


who burnt the topless towers of ilium

by chailattemusings



Category: Borderlands
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 06:30:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 68,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5994937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chailattemusings/pseuds/chailattemusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gods are playing a game of strength and deception, and Rhys is caught in their net when three goddesses offer the young farmer Vasquez a reward for deciding who among them holds the highest honors. </p>
<p>Vasquez only wants the most beautiful of wives, and unfortunately for Greece and Troy, that wife happens to be married to Jack, the King of Sparta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The deities were never excluded from celebrations. Mortals didn't invite deities to their weddings, but they didn't _not_ invite them. To forbid any god or goddess from attending an event was to invoke a wrath that would rage for generations.

Thetis and Peleus didn't quite understand that.

Because August had arranged for the wedding, he saw fit to attend, and of course neither Thetis or Peleus were about to stop him. When August decided to show his face at the wedding, it didn't take the other deities long to come along with him. What was a quiet affair at first quickly unfolded into a loud, raucous event, with wine passed around in large chalices and food spilling from everyone's lips. The scent of roasted meat and heady wine drifted through the air, plates passed around the table to different hands, everything freely given and shared. There was dancing from mortals and gods alike, robes twirling, music filling the courtyard and winding around the stone columns under the massive roof where the feast was being held. August had taken his rightful place beside the bride and groom, his own wife at his side, the rest of the deities spread throughout the grounds with their own drink and merriment to keep them company.

The wedding had started at dawn, and the sun had just reached its peak when the apple fell onto the table.

August wasn't the first to notice it. He was too busy talking to Thetis about her and Peleus' expectations for their first child– despite the arranged marriage, she was pleased to be able to start a family– when something small, round, and golden smashed into the tabletop.

Sasha swore with the force of a gale wind. August jerked back, Thetis yelped. Peleus rushed to put his arms around Thetis’ shoulders. She stood quickly and glared down at the table where, among the overturned plates and scattered food, sat a single, perfect, golden apple.

“What in the heavens,” Sasha spat, jumping up from her chair to grab the apple. August flinched, ready to stop her, but reeled himself in. Sasha had already taken it, holding it carefully in her hand. It sat harmlessly in her palm but Thetis still bristled at the sight of it, looking imploringly at her new husband. Peleus watched, not daring to move, as the queen of the deities rolled the apple over her hand. 

Sasha traced her thumb over it, frowning. Words were inscribed on the surface, carved into the perfect golden flesh. She knew exactly where golden apples came from; the deities all knew who made them. She opened her mouth to name the culprit but a chorus of gasps made her snap her head up, eyes narrowed.

The crowd had stopped their dancing and drinking, staring at the tall woman commanding attention at the end of the courtyard. She stood with her hip cocked and her chin raised, smirking like the whole world owed her their attention. Sasha groaned. August went stiff. Beside them, Thetis shoved her way out of her husband's arms, standing at attention.

The goddess of discord had graced the wedding with her presence.

“Well, well, well,” Vallory said, strutting into the courtyard, grinning so wide her golden tooth showed, flashing in the high noon sun. “This is quite the party you've decided to throw.”

“Vallory,” Thetis hissed. Peleus' hands fluttered, unsure of where to go, but he yielded to his new wife, dark and threatening even on the bright day of their wedding. She weaved around the head table where the apple had landed and strode up to Vallory without hesitation. The cups of wine quivered under her wrath; her command of the sea extended far when her fury wrapped itself around the edges of her throat, rearing its ugly head in the crease of her brow, the set of her shoulders. “What are you doing here?” she asked, the crash of waves in her voice; the consequence of stirring the ire of a sea nymph.

Vallory's smirk spoke worlds and she didn't quake under Thetis' anger. “Why, I'm attending the wedding that everyone else seems so pleased about.” She raised a hand, gesturing to the crowd around them. Everyone stared, waiting for the confrontation to peak. “It seems it's a public affair, is it not?”

“You aren't invited,” Thetis said, the ice of glaciers in her tone.

Vallory looked down at her, unamused. “And yet all of the deities of Olympus have seen fit to make an appearance. Seems a shame,” she continued, louder, “to exclude someone without obvious reason.” She started walking, circling around Thetis, eyeing her up and down like prey. “Lucky for you, I don't have plans to stay.” She stopped abruptly, robes swirling around her legs. “I just thought I would drop off my gift first.”

Thetis bristled. August thought the hair would rise from her head like the Gorgon. “And what is that?”

Vallory laughed, the sound rolling off her tongue like a cat’s purr. “Why, my dear young bride, I've already given it to you. But how could I drop it off without making an appearance?” She leaned down within inches of Thetis' face and said something quiet, something that August couldn't hear, and stood up quickly. “Have a _fun_ evening,” she said, and snapped her fingers. The sound echoed through the courtyard like a thunderclap and August hurried to silence the sound, snatching it out of the air before it could finish its rumble. Thetis jerked back, staring at the space where Vallory had been, now vanished without a trace.

“Oh, lovely,” Sasha said, crossing her arms. “Vallory _knows_ she wasn't invited.”

“She can do as she pleases,” August said, sighing. “Thetis couldn't have said no if she'd asked to stay.”

“She didn't.” Thetis had already started stalking back, hands tight at her hips, lips lifted in a sneer. “She was _more_ than happy to leave and let us admire her gift.”

August had nearly forgotten about the apple. He looked back at it, at the way it shone in Sasha's hand. It was like liquid gold. “Anything weird about that, Sash?”

The wedding guests had started to crowd around them now, curious and wary. Fiona moved to her sister immediately, hovering over her shoulder. August half thought she would put her war helmet on and threaten Vallory herself, but Fiona settled for glaring down at the apple with a protective hand on Sasha's shoulder, fingers clenched tight. Sasha tilted the apple back and forth, watching the light play over it.

“There's writing on it,” she said, her voice tight.

Fiona peered closer and frowned. “' _To the strongest_ ,'” she read, her lips pursing. “Is this her idea of a wedding gift?”

“You can have it,” Thetis snapped, wrapping her arms around herself. “I was trying to avoid Vallory ruining this day for me. Whatever is wrong with that apple, I don't want its curse upon my house. Please, take it from me.”

Peleus stepped around the tables and laid a hand over Thetis' arm. “Are you sure, darling? Rejecting a gift from a goddess . . .”

“No harm will come to her,” August said, holding up a hand in oath. “Or you. This marriage was my arrangement and it is my duty to ensure the day is in the bride and groom's favor. If you don't want to take it, we can give it to one of the guests.”

Fiona shook her head and reached over Sasha, taking the apple for herself. She turned it around in her hand and tossed it back and forth, fingers prying at the single golden leaf sprouting from the top. “She wrote 'to the strongest.' Did she say this was meant for the bride? I wouldn't imagine a _wedding_ gift to be meant for someone exuding strength. Beauty, perhaps. But not strength.”

Thetis shook her head. “Vallory said it was fit for whoever wanted it most.”

That sounded like something meant to cause trouble. August looked sharply at Fiona, watching her eyes carefully. There was a gleam there, an interest that hadn't existed even a second ago.

“If Thetis doesn't want it, I don't see any reason I shouldn't take it,” Fiona said, holding the apple tighter, her grip already possessive. “I'm the goddess of wisdom and justice. I can't imagine any force stronger than that. The apple won't pose any kind of threat against me.”

There was a murmur among the crowd, a few eager faces eyeing the apple. It shone over the bright sun, perfectly ripe and succulent. August growled; Vallory took great pleasure in watching the ripples of chaos spread through their community, and the guests were quickly eyeing the apple as though it were a great treasure.

“Wisdom and justice are strong, yes, but to argue that they're the strongest is rather foolish.”

Fiona tensed, hand clasping the apple still. She looked sharply at Yvette, who had made her way to the front of the crowd and was now grinning, arms crossed. “Wouldn't you say that _love_ is one of the strongest forces that exists among gods and mortals? Or would you deface this very wedding with your claims?” She held her chin up defiantly, daring Fiona to make a move.

The hatred boiling in their gazes rolled across the courtyard, curling at their feet. August's stomach dropped and he went tense, prepared to diffuse an argument.

“Oh, come on.” Sasha rolled her eyes and leaned forward, snatching the apple. Fiona jerked her gaze back, lips lifted in a snarl. Sasha rolled her eyes and tossed the apple a few times, examining the lettering. “You're both wrong,” she said, and held it up so the words glittered in front of the crowd. There were a few murmured gasps. August shook his head and dragged a hand down his face. So much for celebrating the wedding.

“Clearly,” Sasha continued, heedless of her husband's growing agony, “the Queen of the Gods exemplifies the epitome of strength. Even August wouldn't argue that. Right, dear?” Sasha looked over her shoulder at him, smiling so bright that the sun gods would be shamed by it.

Not one to get in the way of her whims, August nodded and said, “Yes, of course, love.”

“See?” Sasha bounced the apple in her palm, delighted. “The apple should be held by me. Any consequences of Vallory's won't affect me and it will look best decorating my mantle over anyone else's.”

“That's a lie!” Fiona grabbed for the apple again but Sasha held it back, powers crackling like lightning beneath her feet, feeding off of August and firing back as a warning. Fiona backed down, yanking her hand away like it had been singed. “You spend all of your time sitting back while August manages Olympus,” she said, nostrils flared in challenge. “The title of queen means nothing if you don't use it.”

“Oh?” Sasha glanced at Thetis and Peleus, trapped in the crowd and watching this new disaster unfold on what was meant to be the grandest day of their young lives. “We wouldn't be here at all if I hadn't blessed this marriage. Vallory wouldn't have even shown up to give the apple away.” She narrowed her eyes at Fiona. “What would you argue that you deserve it more?”

“Excuse me?” Yvette spoke again, worming her way past the last of the crowd to stand beside Sasha and Fiona, her eyes falling quickly to the shining apple. “Would this marriage even exist if not for love? What about the work I do to ensure you _have_ marriages to bless?”

“This marriage was arranged,” Fiona said flatly, her eyes like daggers.

“Arranged by _my_ husband,” Sasha was quick to point out. Her fingers were like talons on the apple now, clutching so tight it looked as though it might shatter. Vallory’s magic was strong, though, and the soft gold kept its shape, the inscription winding perfectly through the flesh. August looked over the words again, _To The Strongest_. Vallory had known what would happen when she refused to specify who it was, when she gave Thetis free permission to throw the gift at whoever would take it.

“I should keep the apple,” Yvette said, squaring her shoulders. “No one works as often as I do to keep the relationships of mortals and gods alive.”

“I'm a warrior,” Fiona said, bringing a hand down over her hip to brush the ivory helmet hooked on her belt, an accessory she was never seen without. “Neither of you would know what to do with a gift so dangerous.”

“Your _queen_ thinks the apple best fit for herself,” Sasha said, lowering the apple to keep it held close to her breast. “I know Vallory's magic better than either of you and you risk being cursed by it if you take it for yourselves.”

“Why are you fighting?!”

Thetis' scream rang out over the crowd, fists clenched and dark hair flying into her eyes. The water and wine of the banquet was trembling again and she seethed, glaring at each of the goddesses in turn. “Why do you want it?” she asked, leveling them with a stare that could flatten a typhoon's waves. “You _know_ Vallory gave it to me to cause unwanted strife.”

“She doesn't give these away every day,” Yvette said, eyeing the apple with hunger. “They're precious. A rare gem.”

Thetis opened her mouth but Peleus put his hands on her shoulders again, shaking his head quickly. She pursed her lips and grunted unhappily, bowing her head in deference.

“It should be _mine_ , I claimed it first,” Fiona said.

Sasha rolled the apple in her palm again and smirked. “And yet I'm holding it.”

“Do neither of you see what kind of gift you're squandering?” Yvette hissed.

“All _right_.” August snapped his finger and a crack of thunder shook the clouds, echoing over the small valley and collecting around the courtyard, rumbling until everyone was quiet. August glared at each of the goddesses in turn and looked at Thetis and Peleus, furious and upset. “If we keep this up, we're going to ruin the wedding day more than we already have.” He gestured to the bride and groom, thunder rumbling again with the sweeping movement of his hand. “This is supposed to be their most joyous day. Let's set aside this petty fight.”

Fiona put her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. “Then what do we do with the apple?”

“My wife will keep it.”

“That's unfair!” Yvette said, angling closer to Sasha.

August side-stepped between them before she could snatch it. He put his hands up at Fiona and Yvette's indignant cries, letting another snap of thunder speak for him. “If we keep arguing like this it'll go on all night and the bride and groom won't even get a chance to consummate their marriage. No one wants that, especially not my lovely wife. I didn't say the apple was hers. She'll merely hold on to it until we can decide who should rightfully have it.”

Yvette and Fiona both looked ready to siege a war right then and there, hackles raised and power trickling around them in steady waves. August frowned and snapped his fingers again. A bolt of lightning landed just behind him, far enough not to damage the wedding affairs but close enough that the light burst over the courtyard, illuminating the shock and fear of the wedding guests' faces. “Enough,” he said, with finality in his tone. “Let's not ruin the wedding. Drink and be merry, and put the apple out of your minds.”

The air was tense with more than the sour aftertaste of August's storms, heady and thick enough to cut. The guests looked at August and the goddesses. Slowly they parted, moving to their separate tables. August watched them all carefully. The tension hung like a coil of heavy ropes.

He looked at Sasha, Fiona, and Yvette. “Drink,” he repeated, lifting the closest wine flask from the table. He took a generous sip and sloshed the container, glaring harshly.

Fiona grit her teeth. “Fine, but this isn't over.” She turned sharply on her heel. Yvette didn't reply, just walked past August to her place at the banquet table.

The band was hesitant, their instruments shaking in their hands. August nodded at them and the music started again. He smiled apologetically at Peleus and Thetis. They’d huddled at the head of the table and spoke to each other in low, harsh tones, holding each other's hands tight.

August sagged and took another swig of wine. If he were lucky the whole affair would go away in a matter of months.

 

* * *

 

The fight lasted for the next several decades.

Thetis and Peleus stole away to Peleus' home and kept to themselves, and August, assuming his part of the deal was done, returned to Olympus with Sasha. She held the apple too close for his liking and peered at it with far too much longing, but he'd agreed to let her hold it until they could sort the matter out. Truthfully, he'd hoped that if he waited, all three of the goddesses would forget they even wanted the damn thing.

It wasn't three days later, however, that Sasha swore up a storm and yanked August off his throne to show him their bedroom, and the table where the apple had once been resting, now gone. She'd turned it over in a fit of rage and sent out a sentry to find out where, exactly, the apple had gone.

Fiona had taken it, of course. The bickering had lasted months, the echos of its effects rolling through mortal lands with earthquakes and minor battles incited by their lasting rage boiling over the landscape like hot candle wax over a map. In the end the apple was stolen again by Yvette, and the resulting arguments broke many hearts and marriages of mortals and deities alike.

It went on like that in fits and spurts, and August had to clean up after every new fight. One of the three stole the apple and the other two fought with them, the anger would die down for a few months, and then a different woman would steal it and the entire affair would start again. It seemed every day August slumped in his throne on Olympus and groaned long and low at the continuing fights.

Eventually, enough was enough.

Yvette and Fiona had both come crashing into Olympus with raised hackles and thunderous steps, accusing Sasha of foul play. Their voices rang like ritual bells that wracked August's brain. He stood quickly, teeth clenched, growling so loud that it sparked a storm in the sky.

Lightning flashed and rain cascaded over the mountaintop. All three women stopped and turned to August, their hands raised and ready for a fight. Yvette currently held the apple, nails digging into its gold surface, as though destroying it would be better than letting the other two possess it.

“That's it,” August said, thunder rolling in his throat. “That apple is obviously cursed and I've had enough of this fighting. We're going to end this once and for all with one decision for who most deserves it, and that will be the _end_.”

Fiona sneered at him. “You'll just choose your wife.”

August shook his head before she'd finished her sentence. “I never said _I_ would be the one to choose. We'll choose a neutral party, someone who knows none of us and won't be swayed by anything but logic.”

“And who exactly would that be?” Yvette asked, raising a brow. “Surely all mortals would have one opinion or another of which goddess they prefer.”

August waved a hand in a calming motion and held the other out toward the apple. Yvette flinched back, hands clenching around it, but August's steady stare kept her rooted to the spot. Another few moments of tension and another loud crack of thunder passing outside finally convinced her. She handed over the apple with a long sigh.

Taking it, August glanced again at the inscription on the apple, lips pursed. “I think I have the perfect person in mind.”

 

* * *

 

All mortals knew of the deities in one form or another. The names and appearances changed but it was the same essential form, the same kind of magic. August couldn't choose someone who did not believe; their opinion would be clouded by lack of interest. But he couldn't choose someone overzealous, either. He needed someone who cared about the gods but wasn't so wrapped up in them that they wouldn't be able to make a decision.

Vasquez was a young man who'd been living as a farmer for most of his life, displaced at birth but fairly successful. He was married to a nymph, herded animals for a modest living, and, August hoped, his judgement wouldn't be obscured by extreme wealth or extreme poverty.

August led the three goddesses down to Vasquez, carrying them on storm clouds in mortal forms. No mortal could look upon their bodies without being blinded but he'd approximated human forms as close to their true appearances as he could. They descended onto the land of Vasquez’s home and August stepped forward, knocking on the door of the small farmer's hut.

It opened with a slow creak. From inside came a low, “What?!” and a man poked his head out. Pale, dark hair and beard, dressed in worn cloth. He frowned at the sight of four people on his doorstep. “If you're looking for money, don't bother. I haven't got any to spare on people like you.”

August frowned and glanced at his own clothes, significantly more tattered than Vasquez's. Perhaps he'd gone a little overboard on trying to appear mortal. He looked at Vasquez again, standing up tall. “Vasquez?” he asked, tilting his head. “This is your home, isn't it?”

“Uh, yeah?” Vasquez glanced back inside and shuffled out, shutting the door behind him. “If you and your, ah,” he glanced behind August, “ _friends_ are looking for handouts, forget it. I don't need to waste money on what you're offering.”

August pursed his lips, leveling Vasquez with a hard stare. “No, that isn't what this is about.”

“Then I suggest you get out–”

“I'm the King of the Gods,” August said quickly, irritation ticking up a notch with every word out of Vasquez's mouth.

August stepped back and gestured to the goddesses, who all watched Vasquez impatiently. “These are the goddesses of justice, love, and marriage, to name a few of their domains. We need your assistance with something.” 

Vasquez was wide eyed, eyes darting between all of them. “Uh huh,” he said slowly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “And, ah, just _how_ exactly am I supposed to know that that’s true?”

“Oh, really, with this?” Fiona sighed and put her face in her hand. “August, you picked a nonbeliever.”

“I didn't,” August snapped, and looked at Vasquez again. “I'll show you my most famous bit to convince you, all right?” He raised a hand before Vasquez could object and clicked his fingers. The noise shattered the air around them and boomed across the small valley, grass flattened beneath the force of the noise. Vasquez yelped and covered his ears. Fiona, Yvette, and Sasha didn't even flinch, though Sasha frowned disapprovingly. August grinned at her and clicked his fingers again, silencing it.

“Believe me now?” he asked.

Vasquez nodded quickly, shivering. He rubbed his palms over his ears and shook his head a few times, straightening to look at August. “O-Okay,” he said, swallowing. “I believe you, I get it. King of the Gods in mortal form, right? I always heard stories about this . . .” He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “I should have known it was going to happen to _me_  someday,” he said, a tone of cockiness vaguely masking the terror that still lurked there.

Yvette made a noise of disgust but August ignored her, focusing on Vasquez. “This is how it's going to break down,” he said, holding both hands up. “I want you to make a decision for me. With this.” He rolled one palm down and the apple appeared in it, plucked from its hiding place on Olympus. Vasquez's eyes went wide again when August tossed it to him, Vasquez's arms darting out to snatch it. He grunted with the weight of the gold, stumbling and struggling to hold the apple up at chest height.

“And,” August said, “you'll have a lovely discussion with these three ladies.” August gestured to them with his other hand. All three women stepped forward. August darted to the side, giving them space. “They'll tell you what you need to know. I have business to attend to, but know, Vasquez, that you were picked as a nonbiased third party. Use your best sense of judgement.” August snapped his fingers, and was gone.

Vasquez hefted the golden apple again, shocked at the weight and the fact that he was holding gold, real gold, soft and heavy and everything he'd ever dreamed. He spent a good long minute staring at it in his hands, forgetting the world around him.

A harsh cough broke him from his trance.

His head jerked up and he saw the three women still standing before him, waiting, expectant. “Uh . . .” His hands tightened over the apple. “So, what exactly is going on here?”

“A lot of things,” Fiona said, stepping forward. “But the gist of it is that the apple you're holding belongs to one of us, based on the inscription. It's up to you to decide who ends up with it.”

Vasquez's hands tensed around the apple and he looked down at it, observing the letters carved carefully in the surface. _To The Strongest_. Looking at the goddesses again, all three staring him down, he could see why there would be debate about who could claim the title. “One of you gets this apple,” he said flatly. “Not me.”

Yvette snorted and covered the unattractive laugh with her hand. “You? Why would we give you a gift from the gods?”

“What she _means_ ,” Sasha said, walking past her to stand with Fiona, “is that the apple is ours and we can't give it to a mortal. It's too powerful. However . . .” She glanced at both her companions, and smiled at Vasquez like she held the solution to all the world's problems behind her teeth. “If you wanted a reward for making your decision, that could certainly be arranged.”

“Sasha! He's supposed to be unbiased!” Fiona growled.

Yvette frowned and stepped up to them both, hands on her hips. “You intend to reward him for doing a task asked of him by the deities?”

“It's only fair,” Sasha said, shrugging. “It's not as though we have nothing to offer him.”

Vasquez smirked and held the apple up a little higher, letting it visibly shine in the sun so the goddesses could see it. “I'd think the deities would have a lot to offer to someone who's doing them a favor,” he said slyly, raising an eyebrow at them. “After all, this is a great decision, probably one of the greatest ones I'll make in my entire life.”

Fiona and Yvette both glared at Vasquez but Sasha kept smiling. They looked at each other and sagged, defeated.

Fiona didn't hesitate to speak first, putting a hand over her hip where her precious helmet still hung, heavy but glimmering and nearly equivalent to the apple in its allure, meant to entrance her enemies before she brought justice down on their heads. “If you choose me,” she said, putting every ounce of temptation into her voice, “I will give you unfathomable wisdom. You will be wiser than any of your peers and the decisions you make throughout your life will lead to fame and glory unknown by any other mortal in this region. Your destiny will unfold as one of the greatest mortal men to ever live.”

Vasquez's eyes went wide and he blinked a few times. “And?” he said finally, glancing at Yvette and Sasha.

Sasha snorted. “Why bother with eventual glory when you could have it right now?” She raised a hand and gestured, her palm wide and inviting, to the land around them. “If you choose me, you will become a king. I have the power as Queen of the Gods to give you lands in the asian continent that are yet unclaimed by a ruler, and you will forge a kingdom of citizens that will obey your every command. In less than five years you will be respected and known throughout this continent and the next as one who commands an army that could crush others beneath your feet.”

Vasquez nearly rubbed his palms raw with how tight he gripped the apple, resisting the urge to hand it over to Sasha. Fiona and Yvette glared storms and daggers at her.

“You?” Vasquez asked through a thick swallow, looking at Yvette. “What do you have to offer me?”

Yvette flashed a look at Sasha and Fiona that could murder an army, shifting quickly to smile at Vasquez. She tilted her hips, balancing her weight and pursing her lips just so to create an image of a seductress, looking at Vasquez from beneath her lashes. “If you choose me,” she said, her voice low, purring out of her throat, “I can give you the world's most beautiful companion as your own. You will never know loneliness again with a great beauty in your bed, and other men will envy you for your prize. You will have the greatest conquest of all, that of a gorgeous wife whose beauty cannot be equalled.”

Sasha and Fiona both snorted at the offer. Yvette had offered a wife to a married man, and no self-respecting mortal who cared about their spouse would–

“Yes!” Vasquez said, beaming. “You! You deserve the apple!”

“ _What?_ ” Fiona and Sasha said in unison, but Vasquez was already handing the apple over, arms bent and straining with the weight of the gold, his entire body jerking back in recoil as Yvette took it easily from his hands. Her eyes gleamed like snake's and she practically drooled as she cradled it close to her chest.

“No way!” Sasha said. She stood between Yvette and Vasquez, teeth bared. “He's _married_ ,” she said, pointing behind her to the small hut. “I know of their marriage, his wife is a nymph. You can't promise him a new wife when he already has one!”

“August picked him _because_ he had a wife and couldn't be swayed by the goddess of love,” Fiona spat, crossing her arms and sneering. “This is foul play.”

“Vasquez seems fine with his choice,” Yvette said happily, waving a hand toward him. Vasquez was smiling eagerly and bouncing a little one his toes, staring expectantly at Yvette.

“You broke the rules!” Sasha snarled.

“We didn't _establish_ rules,” Yvette pointed out, hands tightening over the apple like a cage. “And we _all_ offered him a reward. He just chose based on the one he wanted the most, and that's that. There's nothing else to be done.”

“August won't–”

“August wants this issue to be resolved,” Yvette said, grinning. “And now it is. He has nothing to argue about.” She sidled around Sasha and strode toward Vasquez. Even in their mortal forms, the goddesses were much taller than Vasquez, and Yvette bent down to look him in the eye. “I will return within the month to assist in your claim of your reward. A goddess does not go back on her word, understood?”

For a moment Vasquez looked cross, opening his mouth to speak, but Yvette stood sharply and backed away, nodding to herself. “Of _course_ you understand. I'll be taking my leave now.” In a blink, she was gone, and the faint sound of crashing ocean waves suddenly roared from the coast. Fiona and Sasha stared blankly at the space where she'd been standing, and turned to Vasquez.

“I, uh.” He swallowed and walked back towards his hut, hands held up. “I have to speak with my soon-to-be former wife.” He ducked inside quickly, slamming the door behind him.

Sasha wrinkled her nose. “His wife isn't even in there. She went to the market hours ago.”

“What's her name?” Fiona asked, tilting her head as she debated blowing the hut down with her fist.

“Maya. I shouldn't be terribly surprised that Vasquez wants someone else; she hates his guts and only married him because the king of Troy asked her to. I haven't paid close attention to the marriage beyond that, really.”

Fiona made a disgusted noise and turned away from the house. “Let's leave, then. We can speak with August about this later.”

Sasha nodded and they left quickly for Olympus.


	2. Chapter 2

The palace of Sparta sat on a raised hill, high above the small homes and roads of the common people. It had flat roofs supported by high columns. Stairways led around the landscape and cobbled paths. A long staircase wound around the hill to the building and from there it was a complicated network to find one's way inside, either to attend to their duties or, if they were unlucky, meet with the king himself for council.

Inside the palace were wide hallways with yet more columns, stone and marble carved out and towering over anyone that walked through. Gold tiles patterned the ceilings and made every room glimmer with the rising and setting sun.

Deep in the palace, in a room with high windows overlooking the water, the cacophony of voices and clanging plates rang out from a long dining table where guests were laughing and taking handfuls of food from their platters, eagerly sharing their wine and stories with one another. At the very head of the table their king, Jack, sat in a stone and marble throne with his wife spread delicately across his lap.

Rhys fidgeted when Jack fed him another string of grapes, pushing his face unhappily into Jack's shoulder. “I've been sitting here all night,” he whined.

Jack paused, dropping the empty grape vine and petting Rhys' hair. “What, you don't like my lap anymore?” He wiggled a little, just enough that Rhys could feel his cock beneath his robes. “I thought this was your favorite spot.”

Rhys blushed and ducked his head again, groaning. “Jack, please. I can't _talk_ to anyone like this.” He brought his knee up to nudge it against Jack's ribs, annoyed. “Let me down.”

Jack grunted but complied, slipping his hands under Rhys' legs and shifting him to stand up. Rhys brushed his skirts down and swiped Jack's hand, kissing it gratefully and taking his seat in the smaller chair next to Jack's throne.

On his left, Nisha leaned over the table and grinned. “Got your freedom back for the night, huh?”

“Oh, ah, yeah.” Rhys smiled and took a piece of fruit for himself, popping it into his mouth. He liked sitting in Jack's lap, he really did, but he liked to have _some_ level of dignity in front of their guests. And he liked actually being able to talk to everyone else at dinner.

The table was filled with Jack's closest companions and allies. With all of the recent fights breaking out along boundary lines in the past few years, Jack had thought it prudent to cement friendships before anyone could go back on their word. The invitation to the Spartan palace was compelling enough for most of the guests to show up even if they didn't like Jack himself. 

There were exceptions to that, too. Nisha and Timothy were near the head of the table. Nisha teased Jack every other minute and Timothy tried, and failed, to steer the conversation toward actual political topics. He seemed to be the only one interested in doing so; everyone else was enjoying the food and the company.

It looked like it was going to be a great evening for all of them and Rhys would get to go to bed happy and sated that night. Jack would get his allies and Sparta would be all the more secure in time for the next war, which was never far off.

The door of the dining hall creaked open, wood grinding over stone so loudly that conversation at the table screeched to a halt. Jack blinked and looked up, watching the messenger that scurried in.

“King Jack! King Jack, sir! I have a message for you!” The servant ran and nearly tripped on the heavy marble floor, skidding to a stop next to Jack's throne. They looked up at him with bright, eager eyes and fists clenched in anticipation. “Someone's at the door, sir!”

Hushed whispers broke out over the table, every head turning to their neighbor to guess at who could have wanted to interrupt Jack's dinner.

Jack raised a brow. “You bothered me for that? Figure out what they want, don't bother me unless it's important.”

“But it is, sir! He says he's a prince of Troy and he wants to spend the evening here!”

All the guests snapped to attention. Rhys nearly choked on his sip of wine and pounded a fist on his chest, clearing his throat. Nisha's hand gripped the edge of the table. Timothy pursed his lips.

Jack stared at the servant for a long moment. “Prince of Troy, huh? What's he doing all the way out here?”

“He didn't say, sir! Shall I send him in?”

Jack considered the servant for a long moment, looking at the dining room doorway again. He sighed, long and low, and said, “Yeah, send him in. I'll have a word with him, at least.”

“Yes, King Jack!” The servant bowed and scurried away again, shutting the door as quickly as its great weight allowed.

Conversation picked up again, though it stayed quiet. Nisha and Timothy kept looking between Jack and themselves. Rhys stared at him but Jack was watching the door, waiting. Visitors to the Spartan palace weren't uncommon. A lot of people came to beg and pray, some to ask for help or advice, some to offer alliances or air out grievances. But it wasn't every day they had princes knocking on their door, and especially not in the middle of their dinner hour on the day Jack had invited dozens of guests for a banquet.

The door opened again and the servant led their new guest in. Rhys leaned toward Jack instinctively and Jack put a hand in his hair, petting idly as he watched the man at the other end of the hall. He was tall, towering next to the small servant, with dark hair swept back over his head and a thick, black beard. His skin was pale like Rhys'. Jack, by contrast, was tan with his hours outside working with soldiers on the training fields.

The servant left and the guest stood next to Jack, far enough that Nisha couldn't use the knife she was holding. Jack eyed the guest curiously.

“And who might you be?” he asked, taking his hand from Rhys' hair. The guest’s eyes flicked down to Rhys and something like shock danced in his eyes, quickly masked as he looked at Jack again.

Rhys scowled and settled back in his chair. The reaction wasn't uncommon but it was never cared for, and Rhys tucked his hand around his side, brushing against the edge of his bare shoulder. Settled on what kind of person this was, he watched with narrowed eyes as the guest bowed to Jack.

“My name is Vasquez,” he said, “and I am the crown prince of Troy. I came to see the glory of Sparta's king for myself, and partake in your hospitality.”

“Oh, you have?” Jack put on the sickeningly sweet voice he used with people he didn't like, but wasn't sure about killing yet. “And what proof do you hold of your position as crown prince of Troy?”

“Good sir,” Vasquez said, putting a hand to his heart. “You wound me. I would not lie in someone else's home. I can assure you that this is proof enough.” He reached a hand into his belt and pulled out his sword, the scabbard wrapped tight around it. Nisha tensed automatically but Vasquez wasn’t drawing his weapon; he held it in front of Jack, one finger pointing to the emblem on the hilt. It was made of arching curves and the pattern of animals dancing around the edges, the symbol of a royal family.

Small murmurs echoed over the table. Jack held up a hand and they were silenced. “So,” he said. “You wish to stay here for the night?”

“If you would not refuse me,” Vasquez said, putting his sword away and smiling. The way it curved and didn't meet his eyes settled wrong in Rhys and he shrunk farther down in his chair. Jack's eyes flicked to him but didn't linger, looking back at Vasquez.

“Well,” Jack said. “I wouldn't turn away an esteemed guest such as yourself, especially not on a night like tonight. I am hosting a grand dinner and if you wish to join us, I have no right to turn you down.” He waved a hand toward the seat next to Timothy. The woman currently sitting there flinched but nodded quickly and moved down the table, freeing a space for Vasquez. “There, sit as you like and share our food. We have more than enough.”

“Thank you, King Jack.” Vasquez bowed and took his seat. Rhys noted with some amount of pleasure that Timothy cringed, less pleased even than Rhys.

Jack sent for another servant who gave Vasquez a fresh plate and glass. Vasquez dug into the meat with harsh teeth and swallowed the wine vigorously. Rhys recoiled and a moment later Jack’s hand was back in his hair, soothing.

“So why did you come here?” Jack asked, a hint of irritation in his tone. Rhys was sure that if he could have he would have turned Vasquez away, but the rules of hospitality rang strong among them all. Turning away a guest was a slight, no matter who they might be. “Troy is a very long way from here.”

Vasquez paused and took the time to chew the food in his mouth. When he spoke he spit some bits from his teeth. “I've been traveling far and wide to expand my horizons. I thought the fabled King of Sparta worth paying a visit. Tales of your triumphs are popular among these lands.”

That made Jack smile and he relaxed in his chair. Rhys glared at Vasquez, startling when Vasquez met his eyes directly. He blushed and turned away, suddenly hyper-aware of his missing arm. He _knew_ Vasquez was looking at it, he could feel his stare between Vasquez’s slobbery sips of wine.

Everyone else did their best to ignore the new guest. Vasquez didn't make a huge effort to get himself noticed, although he jumped into some of Nisha's stories, talking about this warrior he'd met or that king who had passed through his lands. It got bad enough that Nisha snapped at him, eyes ablaze and hand curled into a fist.

Jack waved a hand to calm her but his stare had hardened again. Vasquez quieted after that.

The dining hall dimmed as the sun set, and when it was so dark that only the light of the candles lit the room, Jack stood from his chair and clapped his hands. “Thank you, everyone, for joining me on this evening. It's been wonderful dining with all of you, and I assure you, you all have rooms to stay in for the night. I wouldn't dream of not sharing my home with all of you.”

The guests clapped, their murmurs rumbling low and pleased. Rhys smiled as Jack took his hand and helped him stand up.

Servants led people from the hall to the guest wing and Jack watched them all go, not moving until he was assured everyone had been guided away. Nisha and Timothy walked by themselves to their permanent guest rooms not far from Jack's own chambers.

Jack started to turn. Rhys grabbed the edges of his robe. “Uh, Jack?” he said quietly, tilting his head. Jack jerked to a stop and frowned, looking back. Vasquez was still standing there, arms crossed and one eyebrow cocked.

Gritting his teeth, Jack sighed and said, “Yes? Can I help you?”

“Am I allowed to stay the night here as well?” he asked, waving a hand toward the doors where the other guests had left. “I didn't see anyone showing me where to stay.”

Jack frowned and lifted an arm up to tuck Rhys under it, holding him close, safe. “I have a limited number in my palace, but yes, of course you're allowed to stay. I have no reason to refuse you.” The bite at the end of his tone was a sharp warning.

“Great!” Vasquez beamed. Rhys tucked himself closer to Jack, away from Vasquez’s twisted smile.

Jack walked with stern steps down the halls. Servants were closing and locking the rooms, the guests settled in. They would be unlocked again at sunrise but Jack didn't trust people, even tentative allies, not to go wandering in the dark hours. He stopped when they reached an open room and swept a hand toward it. “You can stay here. Sleep well tonight. You certainly drank enough wine for it.”

Vasquez nodded and opened the door, smiling at Jack over his shoulder. “Thank you again, sir. You have no idea how much I appreciate your letting me stay.”

“Of course,” Jack said, nodding. He waited until the door shut completely to scowl at it.

Rhys reached out and locked the door himself, the wooden barricade heavy but manageable for his single arm. Jack swept him up again and they went to the other side of the palace together, where Jack's chambers rested between the rooms reserved for Timothy and Nisha.

In a few minutes Rhys was undressed and lounging on their bed, stretched out as far as he could. Jack was washing his face in a small basin and shook himself dry, hair flopping over his eyes without the fatty gel he used to keep it in a perfect coif. He leaned against the open window, looking down the hill at the city nestled in the valley below.

Rhys sat up, shuffling until he was on his knees. “You're going to kick him out in the morning, aren't you?”

“I want to,” Jack said, leaning on the window's edge with a sigh. “I wish I could have denied him completely.”

“You should have!” Rhys said, brow furrowed. “He scarfed down our food and kept pushing himself into the conversation. And he kept . . .” He swallowed, raising his hand to touch the scarred stump of his shoulder. “He kept _staring_ at me.”

“Trust me, love, I noticed.” Jack turned sharply and walked to the bed, leaning down to capture Rhys' lips in a swift, hard kiss, both hands cupping his jaw. Rhys moaned and opened to him, Jack's tongue brushing his own.

Jack broke the kiss and swept Rhys' hair from his face. “That jackass is getting booted out as soon as the doors unlock tomorrow. I'm sorry I even had to let him stay, Rhysie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rhys mumbled, sliding out of Jack's grip to spread out on the bed again. “Hospitality rules and all of that. I don't have to _like_ it.”

“I know.” Jack sat on the bed and crawled over Rhys, ducking down to kiss him again. “Why don't we take our minds off of it?” he whispered, his voice a low, throaty purr. Rhys smiled and hummed into the next kiss, bringing his hand up to loop around Jack's neck. Jack settled on top of him, weight pressing down. It was good, that _pressure_ , and Rhys ground up against him, gasping as Jack moved down to kiss and lick his neck.

“Don't think I didn't notice you squirming around at dinner,” Jack said, scraping teeth along Rhys' throat. “I think I deserve a reward for letting you down after all that wiggling in my lap got me worked up, huh?”

Rhys snorted, throwing his head back against the pillows. “You weren't even hard, you prick.”

Jack laughed against his neck, his breath hot and tickling over Rhys' skin. It made Rhys' toes curl and he rose up against Jack again, glad to forget about the ruined evening and let Jack lay him over the bed and fuck him until he couldn't think.

The moon rose high in the sky outside the window and a gentle breeze filled the room, contrasting Jack's hot skin and breath, and the warm thrum of blood through Rhys' body.

 

* * *

 

Jack woke up and yawned loudly, stretching out across the bed. He blinked a few times, stretching again, and stopped. He felt the other side of the bed, expecting to find Rhys' warm body curled up beside him.

The bed was cold. Jack frowned and turned over. There were rumpled blankets, empty, no Rhys in sight. His sleep addled brain took a few minutes to process this. Jack sat up, rubbing his eyes clear and glancing around the room. The sun wasn't too far above the horizon; Jack usually woke up at a decent hour and when he didn't, one of the servants would knock on his door. It was odd that Rhys had woken up before him. He always slept like a log and it would take several shakes of his shoulder and a few warm kisses before he begrudgingly got out of bed.

Jack got up and put on some decent clothes, swinging the door open wide. The attendant wasn't there yet and there was still no sign of Rhys. He walked out quickly and went to the first place Rhys would be, if not the bedroom.

The gardens always sparkled in the morning and the few times Jack had managed to wake Rhys early enough, they went out together, admiring the shining morning dew on the leaves and flowers. Rhys liked it more than Jack did, but Jack didn't mind going out there if Rhys enjoyed it.

They had their own private spot in a secluded grove inside the palace's courtyard. It had high stone walls and vines growing in the cracks, small blossoms barely opened between the leaves. Inside the walls was a flower bed, and benches built just for the two of them; Jack had commissioned it after he saw how much Rhys loved the gardens.

He walked there now with purpose, expecting to see Rhys leaning against the wall and tracing the vines with his fingers. But when he stepped inside the small alcove, Rhys wasn’t there.

Jack growled, walking around the rest of the garden. If this was Rhys' idea of a joke, it wasn't funny. Having Rhys out of his sight for longer than necessary only made his muscles tense, teeth clenched. The farther into the garden he got, the faster Jack moved, until he was running up and down the length. “Rhys!” he called, head jerking to look at every nook and cranny nestled between the trees. “Rhys, where in the gods' names did you fucking go?”

“King Jack?” a small voice piped up from the bushes. Jack skidded to a stop, sandals scrapping on the stone, and whirled on the owner of the voice. It was the servant who had brought Vasquez in the night before, the edge of their robes twisted between their dark, trembling fingers.

Jack's eyes narrowed. “Shouldn't you be making rounds in the guest wing?”

“I was, sir, and, well . . .” The kid rubbed the back of their head and shifted nervously on their feet. “I came out here looking for you, sir, after I found out, I wanted to let you know right away–”

“Know _what_?” Jack snarled. “Did you see Rhys?”

“Oh, well, ah, no,” the kid chuckled, voice shaking. “See, the thing is, the man who came by late last night, the prince from Troy, he's, well . . . he's gone.”

Jack went stiff, nose wrinkling. “Gone? What do you mean, _gone_?”

“He left! I went to wake him for breakfast but his door was already open and he was missing. I thought I should tell you right away, sir.”

Jack's heart beat faster in his chest, ice gripping it around the edges. He glared at the servant again. “Search the palace for Rhys,” he said sharply. “I haven't seen him all morning, I think he . . . I think he might be missing.” The words hurt to admit but Jack steeled himself the second they left his lips, stalking out of the garden and back to the palace.

People were up and about now, guests going to the dining hall for a last meal before they left, servants running around, but Jack ignored them all. He went to the guest wing and straight for the last door, the one he'd guided Vasquez to while the creep had stared down at his wife. When he got there the door was indeed open, and Jack barged in, a growl ripping out of his throat.

The room was empty. The bed was untouched, made up exactly as if Vasquez had never slept in it. The basin was empty, too, and the curtains on the windows were still drawn despite the warmth of the night before. Vasquez hadn't been in the room long enough to change anything, much less spend the night.

“What in the fucking hell!” Jack roared, hands curling into fists. He raised a hand and turned, slamming it into the stone wall of the bedroom.

Blood poured from split skin, soaking the wall in a river. Jack yelled, an incoherent noise that exploded out of his throat. Rhys was gone, Vasquez was gone, he hadn't seen _anything–_

“Hurting yourself won't help find your wife.”

Jack jumped and whirled around, cradling his bleeding hand close to his chest. On the other side of the room, in front of the windows, was a man. Pale and blond, taller than Jack with his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at him.

It wasn't his height that let him look down at Jack, but rather, the small white cloud beneath his feet, keeping the man in the air.

“What the fuck!” Jack snarled. “Who are you? How the hell did you get in here?”

The man's lips tipped up in a smile. “I have a lot of names. But you can call me August. I'm the king of the gods and I'm here to help you.”

Jack tried to say something but it choked in his throat, the words dying. “You're–” He would have accused the man of lying, but there he was, standing on top of a goddamn cloud in the middle of Jack's palace. There wasn't much other explanation.

“You're . . . the king of the gods?”

“The one and only,” the man, August, said with confidence. As if to emphasize it, a quiet rumble of thunder echoed between them.

Jack laughed, shaking his head. He might have been dizzy from blood loss, it was hard to tell. “You– you stayed away from me for _years_ , you never answered any of my words about becoming king of Sparta, and now you show up, now that I'm on the brink of losing my goddamn mind? Is this some kind of sick joke?”

August pursed his lips and stepped down onto the floor, the cloud vanishing in a quiet puff. He stepped up to Jack, raising a hand over his injured one, beckoning with his fingers. Jack drew farther in on himself, frowning.

“I can heal it,” August said simply.

They spent a long moment staring at one another. Jack slowly offered his hand. August snorted and took it, curling both of his hands over Jack's. The pain receded, fading and vanishing completely, and the trails of blood stopped flowing, drying in thin streaks over the back of Jack's hand. When August released him, the cuts had been healed, and there was no pain. Jack flexed his fingers a few times, disbelieving. “Uh, thanks. That was great of you.” He looked up at August and took a step back. “So what do you want from me?”

“I don't want anything,” August said, waving a hand to dismiss any ideas. “I'm here to tell you where Rhys went.”

“That's–!” Jack bared his teeth, shoulders tensing. “You know what happened?! Where is he?!”

“He's with Vasquez, as you suspect,” August said, his tone calm in contrast to Jack's rising anxiety. “You won't be able to find him, though. Vasquez stole away with him by boat and took the river down to the ocean to return to his home of Troy. Rhys was kidnapped.”

The words rang empty in Jack's mind and it took a long, drawn out moment for it to dawn on him.

“Get them back!” he yelled, glaring at August. “You're the king of the gods, right? Floating in here on a magic cloud and healing my hand? So get Rhys back!”

August sighed and shook his head. “I'm only here to deliver the message. I can't help you. There's another god involved in this and I made a promise not to interfere.”

Jack's hackles raised and he opened his mouth but there was nothing to say. At least not anything that wouldn't be an incredible insult to a god.

He took a deep breath and said as calmly as he could, “What do you mean, you can't interfere?”

“There was a disagreement among some of the gods. I promised to find a solution but the solution involved the goddess of love promising Vasquez the most beautiful spouse in the lands. That person happened to be Rhys. Yvette helped Vasquez steal him while you slept and I couldn't break my promise in order to stop her.”

“The goddess of . . . no wonder that creep wouldn't stop staring.” Jack grit his teeth. “I'm going to knock his damn head off his shoulders the second I find him! He's going to _die_!”

August nodded and stepped back, another cloud materializing beneath his feet to lift him up. “I’m sorry I can't do more for you than that. I wouldn't break promises any sooner than you would. But I can offer you something else, if you want.”

Jack looked up sharply, eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah?”

“Safe passage.” August waved a hand toward the windows, outside. “Vasquez took Rhys to Troy. Yvette comes from the sea and is attuned to it. She helped their voyage. Their trip was shortened and they'll already be in Troy by now. I can't do the same; water isn't my strength. But I can watch your voyage and ensure the trip is safe if you decide to go after Rhys.”

“If,” Jack said, laughing hollowly. “Yeah, if. I'm _getting_ my wife back, come hell or high waters. Thanks for the help though.” He did his best to smile even though he could feel the flame of murderous rage boiling inside of him. “Nice to know one of the gods is on my side.”

August hesitated for a moment, watching him, and left the room, vanishing into the air. Jack moved to the window, looking outside, but he couldn't see any trace of the man.

He'd always wondered when he would meet a god. It was a bit ill timed, but he wouldn't refuse the gift he'd been given.

Now, to get Rhys back.

Jack marched out of the room to the dining hall. The tall doors slammed back and all of the guests startled, dropping food and cups of wine from their hands.

He walked up to Nisha and Timothy. “Did either of you see Rhys this morning?” he snapped.

Nisha's brow furrowed and Timothy leaned back from the force of Jack's voice. “No,” Nisha said slowly. Timothy just shook his head.

“And that prick Vasquez, the prince of Troy?”

“No,” they said together. Jack swore, slamming his fist on the table so hard the plates jumped.

“Jack,” Nisha said as calmly as she could, “what's this about? Is Rhys missing?”

“He's gone,” Jack spat. “And so is Vasquez. His room was untouched, it's like he was never there.” He paused, looking at them both, and sucked in a sharp breath. “That asshole kidnapped Rhys.” He wouldn't tell them about his encounter with August, not yet. The evidence was undeniable either way.

A murmur went through the table. Jack kept staring at Nisha and Timothy, waiting for a response.

“That . . . sounds a little far fetched,” Timothy said slowly. “Why would he come all the way from Troy for Rhys?” At Jack's bristling he quickly followed, “I don't mean any offense but that's a long way to go just to kidnap someone. What could he even want?”

“Money? Fame? Land?” Jack growled and started pacing, feet hitting the floor so hard with each step that it echoed through the hall. August had said Rhys was promised away by the goddess of love. What kind of goddess promised someone who was already married?! “Rhys is gorgeous, he's a gods damned flower, why _wouldn't_ that guy want him for himself?”

“He was an ass,” Nisha agreed, “but this is a little far to go for a pretty face or some gold. He could have gone to someone closer to his own kingdom if he intended thievery and blackmail.”

“Maybe he lied about being from Troy,” Jack hissed, hands clasped tight behind him and gripping his own wrist hard enough to bruise. “Maybe he's some common farmer who knows I won't break hospitality rules.”

“Ah, excuse me, King Jack?”

Jack stopped hard and glared down the hall at the door, where a soldier stood at the ready, a servant holding the door open beside him. “Sir,” he said. “We were told to report to you. There have been complaints in the city about a mysterious boat.”

“What?” Jack stalked up to the soldier. “When? Where? Why didn't you report this sooner?”

“Sir!” the soldier said, standing at attention. “We only heard complaints this morning and didn't think it notable to report until word started spreading that the boat was gone, apparently sailed away into the sea.”

“That's impossible,” Jack said, even as dread started to sink in the bottom of his stomach, everything August had said to him confirmed. “If they saw the boat this morning it couldn't have gone fast enough to reach the ocean–”

“Pardon, King Jack, but this one appeared to.” The soldier swallowed and tightened his grip on the sword at his hip. “Reports said it was close to shore before dawn but that it was gone by the time the light touched the sky, as if propelled by magic. There are whispers of the gods sending a ship as a terrible omen.”

Jack froze, his shout stuck halfway in his throat. A mysterious stranger appearing in the night with the seal of a prince, Rhys vanished without a trace from Jack's bed, and now a boat that had magically launched itself to sea at a speed mortals couldn't comprehend.

Rhys was long gone and Jack had little hope of getting him back.

“No,” Jack growled, shaking his head. “No, we're not ending it like this.”

“King Jack?” the soldier asked.

Jack glared at him and the soldier flinched. Every man in Sparta knew the force of Jack's wrath and that they should never tremble unless it was under his gaze.

“Get the army together,” Jack snapped. “I want boats ready and seaworthy by tonight.” He jerked his head to the servant, still holding the door. “You, send messages out to the local territories, tell them to spare any men they have. My wife has been kidnapped and I need to get him back as soon as possible.”

He turned without waiting for a response, standing at the head of the table and slamming both palms on it. He stared the guests down and said, “Meet me in the war room. Every one of you.” He stood and left without waiting.

Nisha and Timothy looked at each other, concerned, and followed quickly after.

Jack's throne room was a gilded affair filled with artistic vases, long curtains hanging from the columns, plants scattered around the corners, and a chair twice as decadent as the one at the head of the dining table. It sat on a raised platform and Jack planted himself in it, waiting for the rest of his guests to arrive.

There was a sacred oath, one Jack hadn't intended to invoke. He would get his allies fairly, like everyone else, by promising them rewards he knew only he could deliver. Land, riches. Things that kings wanted. He wouldn't cheat his way into securing his position as ruler of Sparta.

But this wasn't a matter of being king. It was a matter of war.

Nisha and Timothy were beside him as soon as they walked in, standing on either side of his throne. In any other situation, it would be Jack standing at Timothy's side; he was Jack's brother and the ruler of all of Mycenae, a region that swallowed Sparta up whole. Jack had served him well as a warrior until he became ruler of the city of Sparta, something that Jack was proud to have done by his own hand rather than relying on his brother for the position. Timothy respected him and let Jack take the throne in his own home, understanding that anywhere else Timothy would be the one in charge.

At least, he _thought_ he was in charge. Jack had moved a lot of plans forward by giving his brother helpful advice.

There were great warriors among the people Jack had gathered to solidify allies. Athena and her compatriot Janey were the ones Jack had the most interest in; Athena was a famed warrior, said to have no weaknesses, daughter of Thetis and Peleus. Her lover Janey was her support and anchor, smithing the weapons that made Athena even greater than the legends. And she wasn't half bad on the battlefield herself.

Roland was another fierce warrior. He stood like a tall stone wall among everyone else. The son of a king and a strength in his own right, he fought for his people and their happiness above all else. He didn't care much for Jack but he, like many of the people walking into the throne room, had a tie with Jack that he couldn't deny. The last one of interest was Lilith, a warrior who took refuge and couldn't be found unless called for by people like Jack.

There were others, people of import with invaluable skills in fighting and politics, but Jack focused on only four among them.

When the crowd had filled the room, Jack sat up and said, “My wife has been kidnapped by the sudden guest from Troy. I intend to go get him back, and I need forces to go with me.”

Athena leaned back, crossing her arms. “Oh yeah? You'll be sending your army, won't you?”

“My army,” Jack said, “among others. If this prince is truly as he claims and a prince of Troy, it may be the case that we need to take Rhys back by force. Whatever reason he was taken for– money, power– I don't intend to accept. The city of Troy is a great one, though, and I need more than just the army of one city to bring Rhys back to me.”

“You're asking us to fight for you?” Roland said, raising a brow. “He's _your_ wife. Shouldn't this be more of a . . . personal matter?”

Jack frowned and scoffed. “It's hardly personal when your ally has his wife stolen by a lying thief who snuck into his home and took advantage of his hospitality. The gods would be shamed.”

“Don't try to blame the deities for you naivete,” Lilith said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Regardless of the rules, it was still you who let that prince in without knowing exactly who he was or what he wanted.”

Jack sneered, hands tight over the arms of his throne. “I had no way of knowing that man was lying to me and I didn't want to make trouble on the night I was entertaining guests. Excuse me for having _manners_ , won't you?”

Lilith just leaned back with a sigh.

Jack looked over the crowd, lips pressed into a thin line. The guests who didn’t know him personally, who had been invited to foster a friendship, crowded behind the four who already met and knew Jack.

“Rhys is dear to me,” he said. “I'll admit that. It was difficult to win his affections and gain the approval to marry him, as many of you know.” Jack looked over his guests meaningfully, watching the ones who squirmed. “I would not have him taken from me so easily, so soon. That's why I have to invoke the contract we made years ago.”

Several people visibly flinched. Those who didn't understand what Jack was talking about looked on, confused. He rose slowly from his chair and stepped down to the floor, looking at each of them. “We know what promise we gave the day Rhys' spouse was chosen. None of us would kill the one who married him, and we would all protect that marriage to the death.” He met Roland's eyes and stood up tall, challenging. “Would you go back on that promise?”

“This is not protecting a marriage, it is starting a war,” Roland said, smooth and level.

“You're going to lose a lot of men,” Lilith added, harsh.

“You assume we'll _lose_ , or come close to it.” Jack spread his arms wide, gesturing to Nisha and Timothy. “We have the king of Mycenae and the queen of Ithaca at our side, don't we? We won't be weak against a single city's forces. Some of you promised to uphold this marriage on the chance that you would save yourself from jealous, rejected suitors. I wouldn't go back on my promise for you.” He leveled his stare at Roland. “ _Any_ of you. I don't break my word. Do you?”

A few people glanced at each other and some murmured quietly. Athena looked at Janey with impatience and Lilith glanced at the doorway. Roland glared back at Jack, his stare icy.

“For the others of you . . .” Jack scanned the rest of the guests waiting for his word. “If you assist me in this, I have rewards of gold, my alliance, treasures that I can give. I won't go to Troy unprepared for a fight.”

“Do we get nothing?” Lilith hissed.

“You fulfill a promise!” Jack snapped. “Take it and keep your honor or walk away now, I don't care. I just want my wife back home and I'm going to do whatever it takes to get him.”

A silence stretched through the room. Finally, Roland stepped up. “Do you have a plan? A strategy? Surely you don't intend to go in blind.”

“Not blind,” Jack assured him, circling back to his throne and standing in front of it. “We won't know exactly what we're up against, but we can take a good guess.”

“Uh, Jack?” Nisha said, stepping forward. “It's kind of rude to assume Timothy and I are on your side. You did jump to some conclusions about this Vasquez person. If he _didn't_ take Rhys, we'll be wasting resources, possibly killing men on a long voyage. The risk isn't worth it, is it?”

Jack's eyes narrowed and his shoulders tensed. “Nisha,” he said, slowly. “What would you do if you suspected that someone had kidnapped me, as impossible as that sounds?”

Nisha went stiff. “I'd kill them, obviously. But that's different–”

“Not really,” Jack said, and turned, looking at Timothy. “What about you? Are you going to try and abandon me, too? Do you not love Rhys?”

Timothy swallowed heavily and he ducked his head. He and Rhys had been mildly infatuated once upon a time, when Rhys had had too many suitors and he needed someone soft to help him relax. Timothy had stepped down from trying to court Rhys and took a separate wife to help him rule the kingdom, but the soft spot had always been there, buried under years of being a ruler. “Of course I do, Jack,” he said in a quiet, desperate voice. “But can you think about this for a minute? A day? Let people take in the situation for themselves and make their decisions?”

Jack glanced over the crowd again, at the people staring wide eyed at him. “Fine,” he said sharply. “You can take a day to think the decision over. But I'll remind those of you who swore to my marriage that breaking an oath is a dishonor and I wouldn't want to see what the gods do to you if you don't follow through on that promise. As for the rest of you,” he leaned back in his throne, “it would do you well to maintain my good favor.”

His guests nodded solemnly and left the room. Jack waited for them to be gone and for the door to be closed to slump in his throne, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling.

Nisha stepped up on the podium and patted his arm. “It'll be all right, Jack.”

Jack growled and sat up, fists clenched tight over the ends of the throne's thick marble arms. “It better fucking be. I can't believe . . .” He closed his eyes and leaned over his knees, breathing out hard. “Rhysie . . .”

Timothy put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing softly. “We'll get him back, Jack. I'm still not sure it was that Vasquez person but I've never known Rhys to go missing for this long. Why don't we send out a search party for them? He might still have been taken by land.”

“We can't leave out any possibilities,” Nisha added confidently.

Jack nodded slowly and drew himself up. “Yeah. We'll look for him.” He turned to look at them, steel in his eyes. “I'm not letting _anyone_ take Rhys from me. I'll see them burn under the wrath of the gods before that happens.”


	3. Chapter 3

A tilting motion jolted Rhys awake. He gasped and sat up fast.

He quickly regretted it, dizziness hitting him hard. Rhys grunted and grabbed his head, rubbing his aching temple. He didn't usually get headaches when he woke up. And it was so _dark_. He thought the sun would have been up by now.

Glancing around the room, Rhys' brow furrowed. It wasn't Jack's room. Everything was made of wood, and his bed was tiny, made of rough cloth that scratched at his legs. He tried to stand up, pushing off with his hand and swaying, his mind still muddled.

Another jolt sent him flying. Rhys yelped, crashing into the wall. He barely caught himself enough to keep his head slamming into the wood, growling quietly. A room that moved, what kind of shit was this? He looked around again and found a small filter of light, the only source of it in the room, coming from an opening in the ceiling.

Rhys walked to it and looked up. It was a grate, and beyond it was open sky that shone bright into the small room. Rhys’ mind worked slowly, still trying to clear the last remnants of sleep.

Something heavy, scratching with the sound of metal against metal, ground against the grate’s edges. A second later it moved away and a head poked into view.

“Rise and shine! We're here!” the man said. It was Vasquez, the guest who had shoved his way into their dinner the night before.

Rhys frowned up at him. “What the hell do you mean, ‘we're here’?”

Vasquez vanished again without answer. Rhys protested but soon a rope ladder fell into the small compartment. He looked at it doubtfully and grabbed on, hoisting himself up as well as he could with one arm. It was a tricky maneuver that Vasquez didn't help him with at all, and it took a few minutes before he was out of the small room, crashing onto the deck of a ship.

He jumped back, head whipping around. There was ocean on one end of the ship but on the other end, thank the deities, there was a small beach and dry land beyond. He searched until he saw Vasquez, who was staring at Rhys with pleased, expectant eyes and the poise of someone waiting to be crowned.

“You like it?” Vasquez asked, grinning. “It's the land of Troy. We'll reach the city in a days' time riding on the carts I've had prepared for us a while down the road.”

“You–” Rhys swallowed thickly. “You brought me to Troy?! How? _When_?” His heart started hammering in his chest and he noticed the other people around them now, the crew manning the ship. He'd never been good at maps but he knew Troy was a fair ocean's distance from Sparta, that they had to ride down a river to make it to the sea and even _that_ took a long time. He'd heard Jack complaining about the speed of ocean trade enough times to know.

How long had he been asleep?!

Vasquez waved a hand, confidently brushing aside Rhys' worries. “It was only an overnight trip, you didn't miss much. One guy got seasick and that was the most entertainment we had.”

“Seasick,” Rhys repeated, wrapping his arm around himself. “You brought us over an entire sea in one night. We're going to Troy.” He leveled Vasquez with a hard stare, like he could burn him up with enough force. “You kidnapped me and stole me away on a ship to go on a physically _impossible_ voyage?”

Something in Vasquez's eyes flickered, mouth twitching. “Troy is wonderful, Rhys. You'll love it as soon as we get there.”

“You kidnapped me,” Rhys repeated, standing taller. “You _kidnapped_ me and now you're so delusional that you think we're in _Troy_ of all places?! Jack should have thrown you out the second you asked to stay for our dinner, you fucking pig!”

Vasquez frowned and raised his hands defensively. “Rhys, Rhys, calm down. It's me. Vasquez. You don't have to worry about anything. Soon we'll be in Troy and–”

“Of course I'm worried!” Rhys snapped, sweeping his arm out to gesture at the ship. “I don't even _know_ you! And you kidnapped me! Why the hell are you telling me to calm down?!”

Vasquez's frown turned to a concerned scowl and he mumbled, “This isn't right.”

But Rhys was barely paying attention, storming to the edge of the ship and looking down. The ship was thin and long, a trireme, like the ones Jack used in his navy. The beach was only about a fifteen foot drop. He grabbed the edge, ready to throw himself over.

“Whoa!” Vasquez wrapped his arm around Rhys' waist, pulling him back. Rhys snarled and flailed, aiming to hit Vasqeuz's ribs with his elbow. He missed, but he kept kicking, wiggling in Vasquez's arms. “Hey!” Vasquez shouted, and got Rhys' foot in his shin for his trouble. He hissed but continued, “Listen! Don't try to hurt yourself just because this is still new! We're gonna climb down like reasonable people in a minute so stop squirming!”

“Let me go!” Rhys growled. “I don't want to be anywhere near you, you fucking creep!”

“Damn it!” Vasquez slammed Rhys roughly into the ship's mast, forcing his scarred shoulder to dig into the wood. Pain sparked in it, rocking down the muscle like a tornado. Rhys nearly choked, groaning at the way the hardwood pushed against his shoulder. It had always been sensitive, ever since he'd lost his arm. The discomfort curled in his gut, pulling just behind his belly button with a shivery pull that made him whine and claw at the mast, shoving against Vasquez’s hold.

“This is wrong,” Vasquez said, breathing hard. “She said you'd love me, you have to . . .”

“Love you?!” Rhys gasped through the pain. “Get the fuck off me! I'm married to the king of Sparta!”

“Yeah, you were.” Vasquez let him off the mast but still held tight to Rhys. “Maybe that's the problem. But don't worry, we'll have that taken care of after we get to Troy. It won't be a issue for very long.”

“What the hell do you mean?!” Rhys squirmed again but Vasquez was stronger and had _both_ arms, holding Rhys easily. Rhys struggled until he was tired, the crew of the ship working mindlessly around him and Vasquez without question. His legs started to ache and he was breathing hard, sagging. Vasquez's arms dug into his belly while he tried to get his breath back.

“Good,” Vasquez said with a tone of finality, dragging Rhys back to lean against the side of the boat. Two of the crew men brought out a ladder, laying it over the boat's edge until it hit the sand. They shoved it hard to dig it in, securing it.

The crew walked down it first, testing the security and the give, and when it proved stable enough Vasquez dragged Rhys over the edge. There were people pulling ropes attached to the ship's front over the beach, slowly angling it toward the shore so they could beach it. If they didn't, the ship's fragile wood would absorb too much water and be ruined. Rhys knew that from the many times Jack had talked about his naval strategies. They couldn't sail for more than a day at a time for fear of waterlogging the ship; any extended trips had to follow the shore each day and land at night to let the ship dry before setting out again.

If they'd sailed on a trip that should have taken months– or _years_ , depending on the waters– Rhys would have woken up and discovered the kidnapping before they made it anywhere close to Troy. There was no way they were near the city, no matter what Vasquez said.

Rhys started struggling again the minute they hit land, kicking at the dirt and trying to jerk out of Vasquez's grip. But Vasquez still have the advantage of two arms and he growled as he wrestled with Rhys. “Someone help me!” he snapped.

A minute later someone ran over with rope; a dark skinned woman with her hair pulled back in braids, her face worn with age. She tightened the rope in her hands and held it out.

“Fuck you!” Rhys spat. He couldn't get out of Vasquez's grip to run. The woman held his arm down by his side and wrapped the rope tight around him, binding it. Rhys growled and tried to kick but she had his ankles tied together without much extra work, her hands strong and unyielding.

“There you are, sir,” she said, and turned quickly, running to help the rest of the crew pull the ship onto the beach. Where there had been about a dozen people, there were now at least a hundred, probably more, climbing from a lower level on the deck and jumping down to the beach to help the main crew drag the boat up. The people that had been below deck were all big and muscled, rowers that had propelled the ship through the sea.

Even tied up Rhys kept struggling but he tired himself out again quickly and had to give up, sagging again in Vasquez's grip. He might have been a rude, inconsiderate pig, but his arms were like brick walls, holding Rhys with an iron force.

Once the boat was beached a man walked up to Vasquez, unnaturally dark from long days in the sun with narrow green eyes that cut from Rhys to Vasquez. “We've got a small crew to walk to the wagons with you, sir. The rest of us will stay with the ship and wait for the secondary caravan to take us back to the city.”

“Good, good,” Vasquez said. “Don't let the ship drift back to sea. I'll see you back in Troy.”

The man nodded, turning back to bark orders at the people now securing the ship's place on the shoreline.

“We're not in Troy,” Rhys said. “We can't be.”

“You keep believing that,” Vasquez said, voice dripping in sarcasm.

A few people broke from the group and walked to them, quickly surrounding Rhys and Vasquez. “You should try simmering down and enjoy the scenery,” Vasquez said. “The city isn't far but we'll be riding for a while." 

“You're an ass,” Rhys spat. Vasquez just grunted and shifted him, lifting Rhys up under both of his arms to cradle him close. Rhys jolted and wriggled but Vasquez's grip only tightened.

They started walking. Rhys flailed and eventually Vasquez put him down, cutting the ropes around his ankles with the knife on his belt. Rhys didn't have long to believe he might actually get away; Vasquez tied the cut rope around the binding at Rhys’ waist and made it into a lead, forcing Rhys to follow him as they walked.

There were too many questions swirling around in Rhys' mind. How had Vasquez stolen Rhys away without waking either him or Jack up? Rhys was a deep sleeper but he wasn't _that_ dead to the world. Unless he'd been drugged, but Rhys had been with Jack the whole night and Jack was too keen to miss someone slipping something in anyone's drinks. 

A ship that supposedly reached Troy at night, a kidnapping that had happened without a trace . . . Rhys frowned and stare at his own feet as he walked; none of his solutions made sense.

“What do you want?” Rhys said eventually. 

Vasquez looked over his shoulder at Rhys, raising a brow. “‘Want’?”

“With me.” Rhys pursed his lips. “I'm married to the king of Sparta, you must want something for taking me. Money, land?” His eyes narrowed. “Power?”

Vasquez laughed and shook his head, looking ahead. They weren't on a path, just walking over the easiest of the terrain, moving up and down small hills. He said, “I don't want anything from King Jack. I have money and power already. I just want you, Rhys.”

“Me?” Rhys recoiled. “Why?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Vasquez jerked him forward. Rhys nearly tripped but Vasquez caught his shoulder, keeping him upright. His hand quickly moved to Rhys' hair, petting it. Rhys snarled and leaned away but it wasn't far enough to get Vasquez's hand away from him. Vasquez snorted and dropped his hand. “You're gorgeous, Rhys. A beautiful prize. And I want to have the best of prizes.”

“That's . . .” Rhys scowled. “You took me away from Jack because I'm _pretty_? You couldn't stop staring at my shoulder yesterday!”

Vasquez's lips thinned, eyes going ice cold. “I've never seen someone missing an arm before. Were you a warrior?”

“I– no,” Rhys said, and turned away. “Anyway, you're a prince. Surely you have soldiers that have lost their limbs.”

Vasquez laughed and shook his head. “Certainly not. I haven't seen many soldiers in my life. You're still gorgeous despite the whole arm thing, and I want you for myself.”

Rhys shrunk into himself, his hand balled into a fist. _Despite_ the arm. He should have expected that. There had been quite a bit of that when he was looking for a suitor, days where Rhys spent hours on end wondering whether the accident had ruined his prospects of finding someone special to him. He'd wanted someone to care about him, someone who didn't think of his missing limb as a _problem_.

He had that, with Jack. And now some asshole had kidnapped him.

Rhys boiled in his own anger until Vasquez jerked him to a stop again.

There were carts in front of them, taller than Rhys and made with thick wood. The drivers looked back at them, each holding the reins for powerful horses. “Our ride,” Vasquez said, smirking. He pulled Rhys to the bigger of the two and helped him climb on the back of it, holding the rope tight and sitting in front with the driver. Their guard collected on the second cart and they started down the bumpy road that cut over the hills.

“We're not going to Troy,” Rhys said indignantly, staring at the scenery that they were leaving behind. He could see the shoreline from here and the boat now fully dragged into the beach. “It's not possible.”

“Why don't you try being quiet again? If I say we're going to Troy, we're going to Troy.” Vasquez's tone indicated that there were no arguments, or he’d shut Rhys up himself.

Rhys' nostrils flared and he twisted around to face the front. “You can't just say that! You kidnapped me and now you're _lying_ because there is no way we're headed to Troy, unless you kept me asleep for months! Which frankly would just piss me off more!”

“Would you _shut up_?” Vasquez growled, turning around and grabbing Rhys' robes. “I was going to wait until we got to the city to tell you, but you know what? Fine, the truth is that our ship travelled here on the powers of the goddess of love!” He screamed the words so loud that some of his spit landed on Rhys' face. Rhys flinched away but Vasquez kept talking. “She helped me get you out of Sparta and pushed our ship over the seas faster than we could have sailed. That's how we're here, that's how I got you, now be quiet so I can enjoy returning home!”

He dropped Rhys, who fell back on his knees. Vasquez sneered at him and turned away, shoulders tense and head bowed. The driver looked mildly startled but didn't say anything, focused on keeping their horses on the small dirt path.

“The goddess of love,” Rhys said. Vasquez wouldn't look at him. “You convinced the goddess of love to help you kidnap me? And I'm supposed to believe that?”

“You'll see,” Vasquez said, firm, still not looking at him. “Be patient.”

Rhys sat back with a sigh, looking over the edge of the cart to watch the land slowly rolling by, the hills rising and falling in foreign shapes that looked nothing like home.

 

* * *

 

Jack had given them a day to consider, and it was time to get their answers.

He sat in his throne room again, looking down at the people who'd gathered there to give him their responses to his request. A few people have already left the morning after Rhys' disappearance, taking their steeds and boats home. Jack watched them leave without comment, wishing them well on their journey home but nothing else. He'd make sure to go over his alliances later with his advisors, see if he could limit trade with their kingdoms and cities without arousing suspicion. They would know exactly what the consequences of their decisions were.

Everyone who had once promised to protect Jack's marriage were there, along with a few other people who all looked wary but interested. If it hadn't been for the promise– that Rhys' former suitors would not take jealous revenge on whoever ended up marrying him, that they would protect their bond on their honor– Jack would have used his more violent methods, dangling the promise of war at the edge of his words to keep his guests here and take what resources they had.

Thankfully it hadn't come to that, though Jack kept the thought in the back of his mind.

“What have you decided?” he asked, sitting up. Nisha and Timothy were at his side again, both solemn in their resolve to help. No one had heard or seen any trace of Rhys and Jack was still suspicious of the boat that had apparently vanished down the river to head toward the sea. It was too convenient. Rhys must have been taken with Vasquez back to Troy. There was no other obvious answer.

“We're helping,” Athena said, wrapping her arm around Janey's shoulder, “as long as we're paid a proper wage. I'm anticipating a long journey and it better be worth our while.”

“Done,” Jack said easily. Athena and Janey were worth paying for; there were enough legends about their victories.

The two who were bound to Jack by their word shared a careful glance. “We talked amongst ourselves,” Roland said, his voice low and rumbling, hesitant to go forward but unwilling to go back. “It's true that we made a promise, and we're willing to fulfill it. We wouldn't disgrace ourselves in front of the gods by letting Rhys be taken from you. Besides,” a small smile fell over his face, “we all have this in common because we like Rhys. And we saw how happy he was with you. For his sake, he should be with his husband, not some selfish traitor from Troy.”

Jack glanced over at Lilith. She nodded, determined. 

Four others swore their word to help Jack in exchange for gold, which Jack could easily afford to give them. With that matter resolved, he stood and said, “The next step is to gather our armies and head to Troy as soon as possible. I don't want to waste a single day. Send messages through my servants, tell your homes what you need sent here immediately. I'll give you what you need to prepare for our voyage.”

They all nodded and slowly left, only Lilith hanging behind. She put her hands on her hips, lips pursed, leveling Jack with a harsh stare.

Jack walked up to her, nodding to signal that she could say her piece. Lilith was fierce, famed for her poison tipped weapons that burned through an enemy's body like fire and ate them from the inside out. She didn't use them often; the poisons were made of rare materials, not to be wasted, but deities help whoever she used them on.

Jack was smart enough not to make himself into one of those people. “Did you want something, Lilith?”

“This Vasquez guy,” she said slowly, looking out the window of the throne room, toward the city below, “he says he came from Troy. And apparently a mysterious ship left at an impossible speed the night Rhys was taken. You think he went back to Troy with Rhys, right?”

“It's the only thing that makes sense,” Jack said, resisting the urge to growl at himself;it didn't really make sense, not logically. Not when Vasquez had left so fast that no one had noticed it until the next morning. If the goddess of love had propelled them over the sea then Rhys would be far away, too far for Jack to follow before something happened to him.

“His behavior speaks for it more than anything else,” Nisha said, approaching them both. Timothy hung back, talking to one of the servants in a low voice. Nisha stopped next to Jack and looked at Lilith. “You probably noticed how much Vasquez was staring at Rhys.”

“Everyone did,” Lilith said sharply, breathing hard out of her nose. “I thought it was his arm at first, but . . . not the way that guy was looking. It was like he was waiting for something.”

“Get to the point,” Jack snapped. “I don't want to waste time.”

Lilith frowned at him. “My point is, this guy seems guilty, but the evidence doesn't make any sense. He got past your guards, he got away without a trace, his boat was apparently faster than humanly possible. What if . . .” She bit her lip. “What if the gods are behind all of this?”

Jack clenched his fists, his body going tight.

There were claims of the deities' involvement in people's lives every day; unexplained pregnancies, warriors who'd been blessed, weapons supposedly forged of godly materials. There were rumors all over and the temples in Sparta spoke of the belief people shared. Jack held up his hand, the one he'd punched the wall with, now healed without so much as a scar. It was his first godly blessing, the second being August’s promise to deliver him safely across the sea.

To think that some random _asshole_ had been given a blessing to steal Jack's property and make his way over the ocean . . .

“If he was helped by a god,” he said, coiling his fist tight like a stone, “I'm going to punch that god right in the fucking face.”

 

* * *

 

From Olympus, the city of Sparta was minuscule, and the events that were happening in it even more so. Mortal lives were inconsequential to the gods, something that didn't matter in the grand scheme of creation and their own power.

Until the issue got personal, of course.

“August!” Sasha snapped, pointing down to the land where she was watching a man named King Jack gather an army. “There's chaos going on down there. You can't ignore it!”

August sighed and leaned against one of the columns, looking down where Sasha was pointing. He could see it too, the mortals’ lives and their actions unfolding like a painting still halfway through completion. “I'm not trying to ignore it, Sasha,” he said, patient. “We're not supposed to get involved.”

“She's _cheating_ ,” Sasha hissed, whirling around to face her husband, her face a storm of anger. “How can you stand there while she's dragging humans around and playing with them?”

“It's not my business,” August said flatly. “What do you care anyway? Yvette got the apple, the issue is over with. You have your own work to attend to. There are people getting married and having kids every day.”

“I’m managing them just fine,” Sasha snapped, looking over the mortal world again. It was like a map spread out beneath their feet, clouds obscuring the land but no hindrance against their godly vision. Sasha could see the entire unfolding of events in Sparta and Troy, as well as exactly the kind of trouble it would lead to, all because Yvette had made her foolish offering.

Of all the people to offer, she'd given Vasquez the wife of Sparta's king. There were many people arguably as beautiful but none with such determined and dedicated spouses as King Jack. Sasha had overseen their wedding, watching from Olympus as they kissed with passion and spent the entire night wrapped in each other's embrace. Jack had spent more time, effort, and money on Rhys than any of his other suitors and Rhys had practically jumped with joy when his family had agreed that Jack was the best of the group. The suitors had sworn an oath to protect Rhys' marriage just to stop themselves from murdering each other; that was how desirable Rhys was.

Yvette could have picked _anyone_ else and Vasquez wouldn't have had any way of knowing whether they were truly the most beautiful person in the region.

“She's starting a war,” Sasha said with edge in her voice. “What will you do if Moxxi complains about all of the new souls that are coming to her? Do you really want another wave of mortals leaving this world too soon?”

“It's two cities,” August said, peering closer at the world below. Jack was standing on the riverside near his city, moving ships out to sea. “They can't cause that much damage.”

“King Jack is dragging ten other kingdoms into this mess.” Sasha sighed and turned away, rubbing a hand over her temple. She didn't care _that_ much about mortals; they killed each other on a daily basis and their lives were short. What _did_ matter was the fact that Yvette had cheated to win. She'd offered Vasquez something that could never belong to him in the first place.

And now Yvette was sitting in her home with the apple, watching the chaos and gloating about her new trophy.

“I'm leaving,” Sasha announced, walking to the stairs that curled around the mountain, twisting over rocks and spires to lead across the whole of Olympus in its white cloud kingdom. “I need time to think.”

August called to her but Sasha ignored it, walking fast down the stairs and stepping out, onto the clouds themselves, toward Fiona's home. They had to prove that Yvette had cheated and that Vasquez didn't deserve his prize, much less the right to choose who was strongest amongst them and most deserving of that damn apple.


	4. Chapter 4

They arrived at a city within a day, but Rhys refused to believe it was Troy.

It was near the coastline. They'd rode the carts around a massive set of plateaus on a small road and come to the towering city wall, high above their heads and looming like a mountain. Rhys turned around as best he could; his arm was starting to chafe from the rope and Vasquez had had to feed him cheese and water, spilling both all over Rhys' clothes. He was eager to get out of his binds, even if this city wasn't really Troy.

Vasquez jumped off the cart and drew his sword, holding it up. Cupping a hand around his mouth, he said, “Hello! It is I, Prince Vasquez, returned home to Troy!”

Rhys snorted and slumped in his seat. He might have a crew and the emblem of the city but this wasn't Troy and Vasquez was making an intense show of being incredibly wrong. It was embarrassing, really. Rhys couldn't wait until the leader of whatever city this was to open the door and ask Vasquez what in the hell he was talking about.

Someone appeared at the top of the wall. A man, clad in armor, leaned over the edge. “Who calls?” he asked, so high up that his voice barely reached.

“Prince Vasquez! I come on my father's blessing with my newest prize to take back the throne of Troy! Let me in so that I may greet my family!” Vasquez was speaking formally, but he held his sword tight, ready to show the emblem to whoever asked.

The guard took a moment to pause, watching him carefully, and said, “If you are not who you claim, your death will be swift!” He vanished, leaving Vasquez standing in front of the doors.

Rhys' jaw dropped. They were letting him _in_? They _believed_ him? This– This couldn't be Troy, a one night voyage was impossible, they must have misheard him. Rhys swallowed, his throat tight as the evidence started to pile against him. 

Common sense didn't seem to matter when the door started creaking. Vasquez backed up as the wide wooden doors swung open, revealing the city inside. A dirt path wound through to the small stone houses built in messy rows. People wandered but they all stopped as the doors opened up, peering outside to see the new commotion.

A door in the side of the inner wall opened and the guard stepped out. He had his spear raised, looking Vasquez up and down. “Your say you're Prince Vasquez, returning home?”

“Yes,” Vasquez said, smiling. “Surely you–”

The man raised his spear swiftly, eyes narrowed. “We know of no Prince Vasquez.”

Rhys sagged with relief. Vasquez _had_ been lying and these people would see he'd been kidnapped, free him, help Rhys get back home to Sparta . . .

“King Tassiter will know,” Vasquez said smugly. “He gave me permission to return here before I left to claim my wife. Tell him I'm here and he'll come greet me.”

The guard tensed further but nodded slowly, walking inside the city, waving a hand to them. “Come inside, follow me. King Tassiter is in the palace.”

Rhys' nostrils flared. He settled back in the wagon as the driver drove the cart inside the wall, the second cart close on their heels. He needed this rope off him and a good, solid meal so he could think coherently and write a letter to Jack to tell him where he was, which was– somewhere. The guard hadn't seemed bothered by Vasquez's claim to be from Troy, only that he didn't know of any prince by that name. A small oversight, probably. What did it matter what city this was when Vasquez wasn't even a prince of it? He was claiming too much, trying to get away with impossibilities. Rhys would be free soon, he could contact Jack and it would only be a few days of travel to come get Rhys.

The palace of the city sat atop a hill, looming over it with tall walls and high columns. It was made of colorful reds and blues and sat low with flat roofs. The stairs leading up didn't accommodate carts. Rhys would be walking again, but at least it was better than sitting for hours and hours.

The people stared as they passed, curious. The city guard waved them off when they got too close. Many of the people in the city were men, older and younger and all staring, their eyes drawn to Rhys sitting tied up in the back of the cart, but also staring at the guards riding in the other cart. Rhys thought he saw one man smile and wave to them, and his stomach dropped. These people didn't _recognize_ one another, did they? This wasn't Troy, he knew it. Vasquez had hired guards from here, went out of his way to show them a Trojan emblem to help his weird fantasy.

The pieces were slipping apart and Rhys started to tremble. If they really _were_ in Troy it would take Jack months to reach him, and that would be _after_ the months it took to send him a message, assuming any messages he sent even got to Jack safely.

Rhys' heart was beating too fast and he lowered his head between his knees, avoiding the gazes of the people in the street. The gods wouldn't be complicit in this, kidnapping Rhys from home, would they? It would spark a war, Jack would track him to the ends of the earth . . .

“All right, out!”

Rhys jolted up. Vasquez was standing at the end of the cart, hands held out for him. “We're going up the mountain,” he said. “No carts.”

Sneering, Rhys hefted himself onto his feet and jumped down on his own. Vasquez was quick to snatch the end of the rope around his torso, yanking Rhys to a halt and walking ahead. Rhys scowled and followed, head bowed and sulking. He could worry about the entire predicament later. Right now he had to figure out exactly what was happening, from someone who _wasn't_ Vasquez.

They walked up the great stairs to the palace, Vasquez and Rhys leading their group just behind the Trojan guard. Rhys breathed hard, exhausted. The stairs were steep, and by the time they made it to the top he was ready to go back in the cart and never move, fatigue aching deep in his legs.

“Wait here,” the guard ordered. “King Tassiter will be out to see you shortly.”

When the guard had gone inside the massive palace door, Rhys said, “I thought you were a prince. What are they doing treating you like a stranger?”

“Well,” Vasquez said, bringing a hand up to scratch at his beard. “I haven't been a prince in a really long time. I lived as a farmer most of my life.”

“Farmer!” Rhys said. “So you lied about your status too? How much more bullshit–”

“I didn't lie!” Vasquez snapped, yanking hard on Rhys' rope. “I'm a prince of Troy. I was raised as a farmer since I was young, but King Tassiter is my father. He knows me and gave me permission to bring you back here.” He faced the door and straightened his posture, expectant eyes on the palace doors. “He just neglected to tell anyone else, that's all.”

“Oh, gods above,” Rhys whispered, shaking his head. He was with a completely delusional man who'd set himself on stealing Rhys away and running off to Troy. No one at this palace could possibly believe Vasquez's story.

The guard came back with a few other people. Another guard, standing opposite him, and two men. They were both fair skinned, one much much older than the other. The younger man looked about Rhys' age, maybe a bit younger, with a thin face and brown hair styled back. He was much thinner than Rhys, too, and overall walked like he was expecting someone to hit him with a sharp stick.

The older man was presumably King Tassiter, walking with his head held high despite his similarly thin stature. He looked down his nose at both Rhys and Vasquez, though his eyes lingered over Rhys' missing arm. The younger man stared for a moment but quickly looked away and at least had the decency to look ashamed. The king simply turned his careful gaze to Vasquez.

“Hello, Vasquez,” he said.

Rhys' heart sunk. They _did_ know each other.

“Hello, King Tassiter.” Vasquez bowed and forced Rhys to bow with him, their entourage following Vasquez's lead. Standing, he said, “It's good to see you again so soon. As you can see, our trip was successful.”

Tassiter turned a wary eye to Rhys again. “Yes,” he said, his tone doubtful. “I expect you want to make yourself at home now? With a new wife and your recent claims of divine intervention?”

“He _had_ a wife,” the younger man grumbled. Rhys' eyebrows rose. He whipped his head around to look at Vasquez, who ignored him.

“I'm sure you'll agree,” he said, smug, gesturing to his group, “that we've come and gone from Sparta much faster than would be humanly possible. I've already told you that the goddess of love gave me Rhys as a gift and she helped me cross the seas with great speed. Surely you believe me now that you see it with your own eyes?”

Tassiter's lips pursed and he took in a long, deep breath. “That remains to be seen,” he said. “I've never met King Jack's wife and I wouldn't recognize him on sight.” He glanced at Rhys. “We'll talk over your claims. You can stay in the palace tonight but further hospitality must be discussed in detail before I make any decisions.”

Vasquez's brow furrowed and he looked about to say something, but Tassiter spoke again, holding a hand up to gesture to the palace. “I welcome you, Vasquez and . . . Rhys, to the palace of Troy. I hope your stay will see you well as I aim to make all of my guests comfortable.” He looked at Rhys. “I am King Tassiter. You have met my first son Vasquez. This is my second son, Vaughn.” He tilted his head toward the younger man beside him, who tried to straighten up and smile, coming off more like a stiff wooden board.

Tassiter turned and started walking back toward the palace quickly. “Come with me and my servants will show you to your rooms for the evening.”

Vasquez moved to drag Rhys again but Vaughn held a hand up, frowning. “Can you untie him now? How long has he been like that, for goodness’ sake.” He moved without waiting for an answer and swiftly undid the knots around Rhys' waist, freeing his arm and dropping the heavy rope to the ground. Vaughn snatched it up and yanked it out of Vasquez's grip, coiling it on his arm. “There, is that better?” he asked Rhys.

The genuine concern startled him, and it took Rhys a minute to nod.

“All right, then, come on. You can walk with me if you want, I wouldn't want to spend another second with my brother either.”

“Hey!” Vasquez snapped but Vaughn was already speeding to catch up to the king. Rhys didn't need to be told twice, shooting Vasquez a dirty look over his shoulder. Vasquez caught up with them quickly but Vaughn shouldered his way between him and Rhys when he tried to get close. Rhys breathed a small sigh of relief, rubbing his hand down his waist where it had been rubbed raw from the rope.

The soldiers that had guided Vasquez’s group dispersed when they went in the palace. Rhys watched them from the corner of his eye, how they seemed to know exactly where to go. They _were_ from Troy, it seemed, and not at all bothered by whatever grievances their king had with Vasquez.

The palace was colored wood and stone rather than the marble of Sparta. Rhys kept close to himself. Vaughn seemed friendly enough but Rhys didn't know any of these people. The king kept glancing back at him, lips lifted like he was perpetually sneering. It made Rhys tense, hanging back as much as he could.

They went to a small room with a single curtained window and a work desk. The guards stayed outside and Tassiter closed the door behind them, glaring at each person in the room. “Vasquez,” he said sharply. “You wish to claim the throne _now_? I gave you a wife a few years ago.”

Rhys shifted uncomfortably, stepping back to press himself against the wall. Vaughn looked at him with sympathy and Rhys avoided his gaze, his arm tight over his waist as the only security he could get.

Vasquez nodded quickly. “She wasn't fond of me. She wanted to use the wool from my sheep for her looms and become a well known weaver. She was pretty so I thought it would be fun, but . . .” His eyes drifted to Rhys, leering. “Yvette offered me a better deal.”

“Yvette,” Tassiter said slowly. “The goddess of love and desire.”

“She would know best who I really deserved, huh?” Vasquez laughed. The sound grated like metal against metal over Rhys’ ears, itching uncomfortably down his back. “I did her a favor and got Rhys in exchange. Even if you don't _believe_ my story, I came back in four days. No one goes to Sparta that fast.”

“Yes, well.” Tassiter adjusted the delicate glasses sitting on his nose. “If we _are_ to believe that this man really is King Jack's wife–”

“Don't talk about me like I'm not in the room!” Rhys snapped.

All heads turned to him. Rhys flinched, an embarrassed flush creeping up the back of his neck. He steeled himself, pushing off the wall to stand proud. “I _am_ the wife of King Jack, and I need to go home. Goddess or not, I was kidnapped. This can only end badly.”

“He's got a point,” Vaughn said, looking at Tassiter. “Even with a god's blessings, the King of Sparta won't like this.”

“The King of Sparta wasn't given a gift!” Vasquez said, baring his teeth at Vaughn. “This isn't any of your business anyway”

“It _is_ my business because you're trying to steal my throne out from under me!”

“All of you calm down!”

Tassiter's voice roared through the room like a lion's call. Everyone froze. Tassiter glared at each of them in turn and settled his gaze on Rhys. “You,” he said sharply. “You'll stay in a room tonight by yourself while I work this out. I don't want any more trouble than there already is.”

“But I need to contact Jack! He has to know where I am!”

“Not tonight,” Tassiter said firmly. “One day won't kill him. Vaughn, take Rhys to a new room. Let me deal with your brother.”

Vaughn frowned and grumbled, stepping out the room. Rhys hesitated, looking between Vasquez and the king, but they were already focused on each other. Vaughn grabbed Rhys' arm before he could hear much of the conversation, shutting it loudly behind them.

“Trust me,” he said, quickly releasing him, “you don't want to be in there when they get going. Their fight last week had the entire palace shaking.”

“He can't–” Rhys stopped and swallowed thickly. “They can't speak for me like I'm some kind of prize to be thrown around.”

Vaughn made a sympathetic noise and shrugged. “I can't do anything to stop them. I've tried.” He turned down a hallway. “Follow me. I'll show you to the room you can stay in for tonight.”

Rhys' gaze lingered on the door but he followed. Vaughn walked a lot more assuredly without his father bearing him down, shoulders straight, head held up. Not as high and mighty as Tassiter looked, but close. He was more believable as a prince that way.

The bedroom Vaughn showed him wasn't as nice as Jack's bedroom, but it was better than the ship or the wooden cart. Rhys sat himself down on the plush bed and sagged, hair falling into his eyes. The only windows in the room were small, but they offered a view of the ocean, and he looked out, searching the waters, like he might see Jack somewhere on the horizon.

Vaughn lingered by the door. “Is there . . . anything I can get you?”

“You can get me _home_ ,” Rhys said tiredly, glaring at him.

“Whoa, hey, okay.” Vaughn frowned and clicked the door shut. “I'm not the one who dragged you down here from Sparta against your will so don't go biting my head off for no reason.”

His tone stung, digging under Rhys' ribs like a knife, and he turned away. “Sorry,” he muttered, letting himself fall down on the bed completely. “It's been a long day. As you can probably imagine.”

Vaughn edged his way into the room, tentative and soft. “Yeah, I can. So, ah. Is there anything _else_ I can do? Besides magically transporting you back to your husband?”

“He needs to know where I am.” Rhys sat up, brushing his bangs out of the way, looking up at Vaughn hopefully. “Can you get a message to him? So I can let him know where I've gone? He's going to tear up the country looking for me.”

“Maybe?” Vaughn scratched the back of his head. “I'm not in charge of trade but I think we send ships to Sparta. Or around there, anyway. I can try to get someone to deliver a message. Do you know how to read and write?”

Rhys snorted. “I'm the wife of the king of Sparta.”

“All right, all right,” Vaughn said, imploring. Rhys felt a twinge of guilt again and took a deep breath, willing himself to relax. None of this was Vaughn's fault. He could have a few choice words with Vasquez when he was done talking to King Tassiter.

There was a long moment, Vaughn shifting awkwardly near the door, scuffing his feet on the stone tiles. “Are . . . are you _really_ the queen of Sparta?”

Rhys looked at him, eyebrow raised. “Yes? Why would I lie about that?”

“I don't know.” Vaughn shrugged. “Maybe because Vasquez put you up to it?”

“Vasquez?!” Rhys snarled. “As if I'd listen to anything he says! How am _I_ supposed to believe he's a prince? All he's done is act rude and entitled and kidnap me from my home. He doesn't act anything _like_ a prince.”

Vaughn shuffled closer, daring to sit on the bed. Rhys moved, giving him room, more for himself than for Vaughn.

“He wasn't raised with me,” Vaughn said. “It's a long story but he hadn't even _been_ to the palace in years before he came in saying he was going to get a proper wife and finally take his place as crown prince.”

Rhys looked at Vaughn but there was no sign of a lie in his face. “So it's true.” He looked to the window. “I really am in Troy and Vasquez really is a prince.”

“Unfortunately.” Vaughn matched his gaze, watching the ocean at the edge of the city's shores, beyond the massive stone wall protecting the city and the hills around them. “I have no idea how he got to Sparta and back so fast. That's why I thought you might be fake, there's just . . . no way he actually went there and back within a week.”

“But he did.” Rhys shook his head, all the pieces slipping together but looking all wrong. It only worked if Rhys truly believed that a goddess had blessed Vasquez's kidnapping plan. The gods could be vengeful but Rhys hadn’t thought he'd done anything to deserve such a punishment.

“Can I do anything else for you?” Vaughn said, standing up.

“Pen and paper,” Rhys said. “I need to write to Jack and tell him where I am.”

“Right. Yeah.” Vaughn coughed awkwardly and turned, grabbing the door and stepping halfway out. He looked at Rhys over his shoulder. “I'll do my best. Try to get some rest, all right? We're _all_ dealing with my brother now.”

Rhys managed a small smile, and Vaughn was gone, his footsteps ringing quietly over the hallway's stone floors.

Laying down, Rhys closed his eyes and thought of the look that must have been on Jack's face when he’d woken up and the bed was empty.

 

* * *

 

The open ocean was one of the most terrifying places to be, and Jack loved it.

He'd gone on many voyages in his lifetime, journeys to new lands to seek adventure and fortune, or just for the hell of it when he was a young boy running around the deck of the ship under the captain's guiding hands. He'd spend days on the deck and nights watching the stars through gaps in the wood, thinking of the gods and whether he could follow in their footsteps, become a figure of legend just like them.

He got his wish, in a way. Being King of Sparta came with many perks, and Jack made sure no one forgot him, whether they had earned his favor or not. Now, though. Now all he could do was pace the ship and growl under his breath.

“We have to land every night or the ship will be ruined, you know that,” Nisha said with more patience than was warranted, given Jack's attitude.

“We'd be faster if we did it every other day,” he snapped. “These ships are the greatest in my armada and we have the best soldiers rowing us. We can sail fast enough for two days' travel.”

Nisha was clicking her tongue before he'd even finished. “It doesn't work like that, Jack, and you know it. We _need_ to land again tonight. I know you want to get to Rhys faster but you're putting the lives of hundreds of people at risk.”

Jack looked back where the rest of the army was following their boat. Timothy had taken off to his home to gather forces of his own for Jack's quest, and those who'd agreed to help get Rhys back had given their own soldiers as well. Jack had provided the boats and they'd sailed out as soon as possible.

But it had still been a month long venture, precious time wasted. Jack felt the edge more acutely than he cared to.

They'd only been sailing for a few days and the constant need to stay close to shore and beach their ships every evening had Jack gritting his teeth. The triremes were fast. But the ships weren't built thickly and if they stayed sailing for more than a day or so they ended up waterlogged and sunk beneath the ocean.

It made progress slow.

He burned off time talking to Nisha or Timothy, or consulting with whoever had decided to join his ship that day. Roland and Lilith hopped between ships of their own and Jack's leading ship, relieving their boredom with the changes. Jack refused to move from the head ship; he would never admit that the rotation of people around him actually kept things interesting.

Timothy was navigating. He had a knack for it, having been a leader in the navy before becoming king of Mycenae.

The sun was dipping below the horizon. Jack leaned over the edge and watched it while Nisha walked past him to talk about the next day's travel with Timothy. They were leading during Jack's continued aggravation, able to translate his rage into what he wanted and take the helm when all Jack wanted to do was punch something.

He already had several new scars on his hands from it. He'd ripped up the clean skin August had given him by punching the hull of the ship or the walls of his sleeping quarters, imagining Rhys scared and alone with the menace Vasquez.

Heavy boots rang on the wood and Jack felt someone standing next to him, waiting. He looked up; Athena. Janey was right behind her, playing with a dagger. Athena was focused on Jack, looking softer than she usually did, cast in the light of the sun setting over the horizon.

“Where are we landing tonight?” she asked.

Jack looked at her for a long moment. “No idea. I'm not the one in charge of this thing.”

“You're not in charge of your own army?” Athena asked, disbelieving.

“ _I_ am!”

They both turned to see Nisha, one hand on her hip. “Jack doesn't know how to steer a boat, sweetheart.”

“I'll lead an army on land better than you ever could,” Jack shot back without much heat. She was right, after all. His days as a young soldier had been spent maintaining the ships or rowing, not navigating the open waters. That had always been Timothy’s strength.

“Timothy's guiding us back toward shore for the evening. Should be somewhere around Hydra. It's an island, there won't be a lot of other people around. We can plan our strategy more efficiently from there while everyone rests up.”

“Good,” Athena said, smiling.

Janey slipped her knife back into her belt and looked up. “Is everyone itching for this to be war? We were on ship with Lilith and Roland yesterday. Roland's convinced this can be worked out through negotiations.”

“I don't negotiate with kidnappers,” Jack snarled.

“We'll see what we can do,” Nisha added more rationally. “Rhys is smart, he can survive. We'll just explain that Vasquez kidnapped him and the people of Troy will hopefully beat him upside the head for committing a crime. Rhys will be back and everything will be fine.”

“Are we getting paid whether we fight or not?” Athena asked, raising a brow.

“Of course.” Jack grinned at her. “I don't go back on my promises. You'll get your money. Maybe having the famous warrior Athena and her partner Janey on our side will deter them from a fight. You'd get paid just for showing up.”

They both laughed and Janey said, “Well, that's a relief. We'll be seeing you tonight to plan the strategies, yeah?”

Nisha nodded, and both women turned to walk back down the deck and into the galleys below. “Sweet kids,” Nisha said, watching them leave. “I wouldn't have the strength to bring a lover into battle like that. It's very brave.”

“Hey, what am I, chopped liver?” Jack joked, leaning on the boat's railing. “Does our history mean nothing to you?”

“We _met_ on the battlefield,” Nisha pointed out. “Besides, we weren't exactly the way those two are. Or the way you and Rhys are. Would you want Rhys out there with a sword and shield?”

Jack snorted and looked out at the ocean again. “Are you kidding? I can't even picture that kid holding up a knife, let alone a sword. He'd topple over if you tried to put a helmet over that mop of hair of his.” He lowered his eyes, down to the wood, looking at the grains whorled in it. “He's too delicate,” he muttered, old memories flashing behind his eyes, long nights with Rhys that would haunt him for years to come.

Nisha leaned over the railing with him and put a hand on Jack's back. “We'll get him back. I think you're right to blame Vasquez. We're going in the right direction. Soon you'll see him again and everything can go back to territory wars and terrible dinners to appease other kings, all right?”

Jack nodded, not saying anything. He didn't need the reassurance that he was doing the right thing. He already had confirmation from a god for that. What weighed heavier on his mind were August's words about the goddess of love. If she was on Vasquez's side then it was possible they would have more than just a diplomatic scuffle to deal with.

He glanced back at the row of ships following them, an army ready to raise its head at Jack's command. Hopefully it would be enough to stop a fight before it even got started.

 

* * *

 

Rhys grunted, slamming against the stone wall. Vasquez lowered his face until it was inches from him, breath washing over Rhys like a hot wave of poison. He had one hand on Rhys' wrist and the other curved under his jaw, thumb brushing over the skin and edging dangerously close to Rhys' lips, pushing hard enough for it to twinge painfully.

Rhys bared his teeth and growled. Vasquez frowned, hand tightening around his wrist. “I don't get it,” he said, anger sparking off his voice like lightning bolts. “I did everything I was told, you're here with me in Troy, but you still look at me like, like . . .”

“Like you're a piece of shit who kidnapped me? Yeah, what a shock.”

Vasquez growled and swooped in, crushing their lips together.

It wasn't the first time Vasquez had kissed him and it wouldn't be the last, Rhys knew. Unfortunately for Vasquez, he was usually too wrapped up in the kiss to protect his groin.

Rhys raised his knee in a swift jab. Vasquez broke the kiss with a loud gasp, hands flying to his crotch. Rhys broke away quickly and scampered down the hall towards his bedroom, the only place Vasquez hasn't accosted him yet.

Living with Vasquez in Troy was . . . hard to describe.

King Tassiter had allowed both Vasquez and Rhys to stay in the palace. Rhys insisted on his own room up front, staying in the guest room he'd been given. Vaughn had let him write a letter to Jack to be sent off with the next trade ship and until then it was simply a waiting game. If Rhys were lucky he'd be back home within a year.

There were more than a few nights spent coping with that prospect, but it helped to channel his sorrow into fierce anger.

Slamming the door behind him, Rhys fell into his bed and buried his head in one of the pillows. His lips tasted like the disgusting sour fruits Vasquez liked too much, and he rubbed his arm harshly across them to wipe it off. It didn't get rid of it completely, though. It never did.

An hour or two later the door opened again and Rhys looked up from his light doze to see Vaughn. His hands fluttered, startling at the sight of Rhys with his robes torn off his shoulders and his eyes red. “Uh, it's time for dinner,” he said weakly.

“Okay.” Rhys pushed himself up and fixed his clothes, getting up to splash water from a small basin into his eyes.

“Vasquez again?” Vaughn asked, moving to let Rhys pass and following. The dining hall was a long walk from the guest wing.

“Third time,” Rhys said. “This _week_. Why the hell is he so insistent?”

“I'd say he's an ass,” Vaughn offered, laughing quietly, “but this is weird even for him. When King Tassiter brought his wife in before they got married all she did was scream about how awful he was and Vasquez seemed pretty resigned to it. I have no idea what he's doing now.”

“He keeps saying he did stuff 'right,'” Rhys said, squinting as he wracked his brain for meaning in the words. “Like he thinks I'm going to fall madly in love with him as part of some formula.”

“He _was_ going on about that goddess of love crap, which I still don't believe. None of the gods would waste their time on Vasquez.”

Rhys laughed and Vaughn smiled at him, both pausing at the dining hall door as the servants pulled it open.

King Tassiter had fewer attendants than Jack did, preferring that everyone be dedicated to their own work than have a lot of servants moving around. Dinner was already out on the table when they walked in and there were two people filling drinks for the guests, taking the casks away just as Vaughn and Rhys sat down.

Rhys didn't sit next to Vasquez. Vaughn had made sure to put himself between them as a barrier long before he and Rhys had started getting along. Vasquez frowned at him from his seat, face still flushed with the lingering pain of Rhys’ assault. Rhys held up a hand to cover his grin.

Tassiter spoke quick and quiet, never going into lengthy speeches with his guests the way Jack did. He poked around his food without really eating it and said a lot to them about how Troy was prosperous and he had plans for the future, his answers always just vague enough to be interpreted however the guests wanted.

Rhys had seen that kind of placation from political people before. He tuned out Tassiter, letting himself enjoy his food. It wasn’t his responsibility to try and save Troy from a shifty king.

“Our wine production is doing better than last year,” Tassiter said, “as you can see from our many crops. We create only the finest drinks for our citizens and I believe trade will improve in the near future.”

“And the livestock?” someone, a dark skinned woman, asked from a few places down the table.

“We're managing it as best we can, but with improved trade we can make up for the losses.”

Vaughn made a noise under his breath and Rhys looked at him, eyebrow raised.

Tassiter noticed, too, frowning at him. “Did you have something to say, son?”

“I think we should focus more on the water in the livestock's field,” Vaughn said, sitting up straighter to give his father a firm look. “Isn't there better irrigation we can do to manage that?”

Tassiter's eyes narrowed and he picked up his glass, swirling it so the liquid sloshed up the sides. “Unless you can provide a detailed plan for that that doesn't drain our river or take water from the people in the city, then I imagine not.”

“If you let me look at the plans for the city's water channels–”

“You are not in line to be _king_ ,” Tassiter hissed. “You will do your own job and do it well, but for now it is my job to manage city resources, and soon it will be your brother's job before _you_ have any say in it.”

Vaughn tensed, clenching a dinner knife hard in one hand. “Vasquez doesn't know the first thing about running a city. Even if he did, you heard the prophecy–”

“Enough!” Tassiter slammed his glass down, wine splashing and staining his thin fingers. He grunted and wiped his hand on the table's cloth. “You will not mention that here.”

The guests stared, eyes wide.

Tassiter smiled, quickly masking his anger. “My son is agitated by his brother's return from a tired and practiced life in the countryside. _Do_ excuse his behavior.”

Vaughn clicked his tongue and shoved away from the table, marching out. Rhys hesitated for a second and followed; he didn't want to be anywhere near Vasquez without Vaughn as a buffer. He walked quickly and caught up to Vaughn outside the dining hall, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

“No,” Vaughn spat, and sighed, shoulders drooping. The hallways were tall and their every step echoed, the sound bouncing against the stone pillars. No one was around to hear them aside from a few servants passing by.

“Your dad isn't the best at looking over a city, huh?” Rhys guessed.

Vaughn threw his hands up, frustrated. “Yes! No! I don't know! He was good a while ago.” They turned, and Rhys recognized the hall that lead to Vaughn’s room. He'd only been there a handful of times, preferring to seek solace in his guest room. He kept walking with Vaughn, waiting.

“He's always been more concerned about trade and wealth than the people,” Vaughn said. “But people in Troy aren't happy right now, they're . . . worried. I go down to the city a few times a month and people have been coming to me, asking about food import and our own crops. They're all concerned that we're not getting what the people need.”

“So Tassiter is deflecting,” Rhys supplied helpfully. “Jack did that sometimes, when he thought it was necessary. He tried to keep the people happy, though.”

Vaughn shrugged. They were in front of his room and he opened the door, looking up at him. “You wanna come in?”

Rhys nodded and they went inside, Vaughn locking the door behind them. Rhys didn't mind; Vaughn liked his private spaces to stay private and the fact that he was let in at all said something about how Vaughn felt about him.

Vaughn sat down in one of the plush chairs in the room, bringing both of his feet up and leaning back, eyes closed. Rhys stood, shifting his weight on his feet. “So . . . you mentioned a prophecy.”

Vaughn's eyes opened and he groaned lightly. “Yeah, that. It's not really important. Not unless you put a lot of stock in the god's having a great big path laid out for us mortals and whatnot.”

“You don't?” Rhys asked.

Vaughn shrugged. “I've never met one. I couldn't say. I like to think we make our own destinies but this particular prophecy is a little bit too on the nose to really be ignored.”

“And it is . . .?” Rhys asked, sitting across from Vaughn.

Vaughn picked at the threads of the chair's upholstery, kicking his sandals off and pulling his robes up to let his legs breath. Rhys did the same with his own sandals. “You don't have to tell me–”

“Vasquez is prophesied to ruin Troy,” Vaughn said slowly. “I don't know how much of it is the gods' doing, but as soon as my father found out, he sent Vasquez away to live on a farm, away from here. I was supposed to be in line for the throne. Even if the gods _are_ involved, I think Tassiter screwed himself by sending Vasquez away and letting him come back here so late in his life.”

Rhys leaned on his elbow and put his hand on his chin. “Sounds like it. So what'll you do about it?”

“Nothing, I guess. I have no idea why Tassiter let Vasquez come back. He's scared to death of angering the gods. Maybe because Vasquez said the goddess of love blessed him and he thought that would override the prophecy.”

Rhys snorted. “As if conflicting accounts ever stopped the deities from raging any wrath they saw fit to dole out to us mortals.”

Vaughn laughed too, shaking his head. “Yeah. Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a long time and Rhys' mind eventually turned to other things. Jack. Home. How he would get out of here. How he would stay away from Vasquez long enough that he could stop anything happening between them. The longer Rhys stayed here the more frustrated Vasquez was with his lack of requited love, and Rhys didn't intend to be returning it any time soon, which gave him a fiery ball of angry, entitled Trojan prince to deal with.

 

* * *

 

“So _that's_ what it is,” Sasha said, a grin slowly spreading over her lips. Beside her, Fiona was drinking a full cup of ambrosia and beaming.

“Troy is going to fall at Vasquez's hand, and I have a good idea of why,” she said, gesturing down to the oceans, where an armada of ships was quickly making its way toward Troy. “If his father had never let him return to the city, none of this would be happening.”

Sasha shook her head, still delighted. “The Oracle's truths never fail. The king of Troy reasoned himself into a corner. If Troy falls, it will all be Yvette's fault.”

“And then August will know she doesn't actually deserve that damn apple,” Fiona agreed, taking another sip of ambrosia. It left a tangy, honey sweet taste on her lips, thick and savory. She licked it slowly from her teeth, enjoying the fullness of it as it slid down her throat. “Is there anything we should do to help this along?”

“Hm.” Sasha peered over the edge of their home in the skies, clouds parting to let her see the city of Troy, so far from the Grecian armada, the entire mortal world spread out like a map. “I don't think it would be breaking any rules if we helped the morale of their soldiers. The days at sea are getting long. They could use a little boost.”

“A dash of warrior spirit?” Fiona suggested, giggling. “I haven't had the chance to oversee a war in far too long. Those petty mortals never have very interesting battles.”

“When do you think they'll arrive? Two or three months?”

“Depends on how fast their ships are, and how many die along the way. The coastline takes a lot of time to navigate.” Fiona watched the ships bouncing through the water, so small from here that they looked like toys. If she wanted to she could probably strike one down, but for once they were actually invested in the mortals' fight. Yvette had a debt to pay and they had a score to settle. “We'll teach her,” Fiona said, smiling. “No one claims to be better then the goddess of war.”

“Or the queen of all the gods,” Sasha added, lips quirked.

They kept looming over the armada, watching the days fade and the ships edge slowly closer to the city of Troy and the prizes that lay within.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack had thought that he would have to boost morale a couple months into the voyage, watching everyone on the ships slowly sink into depression, night after night of landing on shore and sailing again in the morning taking their toll. He'd prepared a speech, a talk about how precious Rhys was to their kingdom and how Sparta wouldn't be the same without him, how they wouldn't let Troy show them up by kidnapping one of their gems.

But the morning Jack meant to encourage the crew on the leading ship, Timothy brought him a set of maps and started pointing to their locations, how close they were getting, talking about picking up more forces along the way.

“We're close to one of my allies,” he said, pointing eagerly at the picture of the coast and the territories defined within it. “If we can stay for a day or two and convince them, it'll give us more people, and it will let everyone take a break from sailing, let us gather our spirits.”

“The more time we take off sailing, the longer Rhys is stuck there,” Jack bit out. “What if something happens to him?”

“Jack,” Timothy said, voice soft. “One day probably won't make a difference. If Vasquez kidnapped Rhys to marry him, then he won't be killed, and if he was taken for ransom, he won't be killed for that, either.”

“And if he was taken for slavery?” Jack said, though he knew it wasn't true. The image of August, king of the gods, still rang like a sharp bell in Jack's head. He wouldn't let Timothy be the one to outtalk him, though.

Timothy's brow furrowed and he said, “I doubt it. Coming all the way from Troy just to take Rhys when almost anyone could be kidnapped for slavery would be a long way to go, especially for a prince who already has wealth. I think Rhys will be fine, Jack, if unsettled about the situation. We'll still sail as fast as we can, but if we don't take a break soon, no one will want to keep going.”

“I was gonna fix that,” Jack said, looking down at the map on the table. Everyone else was on deck or down below, managing the ship and its oars. Jack's private room was only accessible to a few people and he'd meant it as a means to keep needless chatter out. “It's not that much farther. All we need is a good speech–”

“Good talking doesn't fix everything,” Timothy said, firm. “Jack, please. I don't want to invoke my status against you but I will. We need to stop for a few days, let everyone get some rest. I'll talk to my allies and see if we can secure more troops or supplies. Then we'll be refreshed and ready to get Rhys back as soon as we land.”

“You're hoping this won't end in a fight,” Jack pointed out. “What's the use of more troops for you?”

Timothy smiled, sad and knowing. “Because you _are_ hoping for a fight, and if you've taught me anything, it's to be prepared for every possible outcome.”

He had a point. Jack grumbled but relented, waving a hand dismissively. He took a seat and pulled out some papers to start checking the inventory, going over what they would need to look for when they landed again.

The news of their temporary stay washed through the troops like a breath of fresh air, everyone sharing relieved smiles at the thought of resting. Jack rolled his eyes and pressed his lips in a thin line, following Nisha and Timothy to direct troops for preparing camp and beaching the boats.

When they'd settled down and everyone was able to relax for a couple hours, Timothy gathered everyone around him. Nisha, Jack, Lilith, Roland, Athena, and Janey all stood with him, discussing their next move. “The city is a day’s ride,” he said. “I'll buy a horse from the first farm I come across but there's no telling where they will be so it might take as long as four days to get there.”

“Four days?” Jack said, nose wrinkling. “You said this would be a few days' stop at most.”

“I didn't,” Timothy said, raising a brow. “I estimated. But it'll be good to let everyone rest, get some combat practice in for the soldiers. Most of them have been rowing boats for weeks on end. Let them work their leg muscles out, too, or they'll be no good in a fight.”

“Yeah, yeah, all right,” Jack said, waving a hand. “I'm just saying, I don't want to leave Rhys for any longer than we have to.”

“We _know_ ,” Lilith said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Trust us, Jack. We know.”

“I'll be fast,” Timothy promised. “If anyone wants to come with me, I'd be grateful for the company.”

“I'll go,” Roland said, stepping forward. “I haven't used my negotiation skills in a while. I'll see if I can help convince them to give us a little more than they might have in mind.”

“Great. Anyone else?”

“We'll stay here, help the troops,” Athena said, putting an arm around Janey.

“I'll stay too. Someone's got to keep Jack's head on his shoulders.” Nisha smiled and patted Jack's shoulder. Jack rolled his eyes but let her, leaning into the touch. It was hard to realize exactly how much he missed having Rhys all over him until someone else started showing him affection. It had been two months already without Rhys' soft smiles and warm hand.

Jack might need a few days off the ocean, too.

Timothy set out after dinner, planning to walk most of the night and sleep in shifts with Roland. Jack and Nisha settled at the center of camp, discussing their strategy for Troy but mostly killing time; they'd already talked about their approach a hundred times over.

“With any luck, they'll be peaceful,” Nisha said, tracing a vague outline of a city plan in the sand. No one knew what Troy actually looked like apart from maps Jack had brought with them. It was too far for anyone but tradesmen to go to regularly and Jack hadn't brought any along with their forces. “Vasquez seemed a little too confident. It's either due to extreme solidarity with Troy, or a questionable relationship. I'm hoping for the latter and that if we explain what he did to Rhys, the rest of the people in Troy will realize how atrocious Vasquez really is.”

“And if they don't, we use force,” Jack said, looking meaningfully at the spread of troops around the beach.

“Are you itching for a fight?” Lilith asked, tilting her head curiously. “I know you haven't started a war in a while, but I think waging an attack on a city we know very little about isn't exactly a wise idea, especially if they refuse to give up Rhys and he's still inside the city while we do it.”

“It's not like we have the resources to attack the city itself,” Jack said. “We'll just show their soldiers what our own can do. Besides, Troy is a trade center. They're built for economy, not war. Our soldiers will beat them to the ground and make them wish Vasquez had never stepped a single foot inside my damn palace.” He raised a hand and punched his opposite palm for emphasis.

Lilith blinked and leaned back, grimacing. “Yeesh. Fair enough, but if it gets too messy in there I'm not going to be the one to clean it up. That's Athena's job.”

“I'm excited to see her fight,” Nisha purred, bouncing a little in her seat. “I've heard the stories and I saw her on the training fields but we've yet to go through combat together.”

“ _If_ we fight,” Lilith said. “Let's hope it doesn't come to that.”

“Yeah.” Nisha turned to Jack, expectant. “We'll work this out peacefully and everyone will go home, right? As much as I love a good battle, I'm not eager to sacrifice a bunch of soldiers.”

Jack nodded, still looking at the sand where Nisha had drawn a crude interpretation of Troy. Somewhere in there was Rhys, scared, alone, possibly hurt. Jack had let him be taken away. He wouldn't forgive himself for that, gods or no gods. “We're getting him back,” he said, firm. “No matter what happens.”

 

* * *

 

Timothy's sources were accurate; within a week he'd secured an extra hundred soldiers and crates of new supplies, from weapons to food, for them to bring on the ships. They loaded everything up and set sail as soon as they could, starting toward Troy again.

They didn't land for another month. It was agonizing, watching the coastline change constantly and never seeing the edges of the roads that led to Troy. Supposedly the great city was less than a day's walk from the shore and there was a great wall protecting it, towering over anything inside to keep the city hidden. It was a trade center and had many roads that led to it, but it shielded itself to protect any riches that lie within.

The whole thing debunked any theories about Rhys being taken for ransom. It was obvious to almost everyone who discussed it that Rhys had been taken as a prize, but no one could understand it. It was so much effort and risk, all for one person from Sparta, too far for the trip to be worth it no matter how beautiful Rhys was.

Lilith discussed her suspicions with anyone who asked but only Jack knew the real answer. August had told him about the goddess of love and Jack knew enough not to question the gods; the real problem would be going against a goddess' will.

The city didn’t stay out of their grasp forever, though.

It was like the maps and tales said, a great city protected by a massive stone wall. Jack could see it as their ships approached and he leaned over the edge to get a better look, assessing their defenses. If nothing could get past that wall, he'd be out of luck. But maybe they could draw the soldiers out, convince them the Grecians weren't worth the fight.

“It's big,” Nisha admitted, putting her hands on her hips. “Are you sure you want to go through with this, Jack?”

“We have no choice,” he said, stepping back. “I'm getting Rhys back. It's up to them whether this goes down well or not.”

Nisha grunted and left to meet with one of the strategists, who had a paper out and was using charcoal to scribble a rough plan for their camp settlements around the city. They would keep the boats by the shore and follow one of the roads to what should be a small valley and set up close to the city gate, where Jack could address the city guards himself.

The beach was thin and rocky. The boats skidded hard as they pulled in. Jack jumped down to help the crew pull them onto shore. After several months, too much money, and the loss of a few lives, they were finally here. Nearly everyone had made it to Troy, and those that hadn't– a few crew members who had succumbed to heatstroke and sickness– had been given a proper warrior's funeral at sea. Jack didn't regret it, although writing to their families when they got back home would be a bothersome job.

They pulled the ships onto the sand and unloaded everything. Roland and Lilith stayed together to talk between themselves while they carried supplies onto dry land. Jack watched them for a moment but they didn't seem to be up to anything, just hovering near each other for solidarity. They'd fought over Rhys' hand for months, and that brought a strange sense of camaraderie between them. It was at least a united front against Jack, who was only still alive and not poisoned in his sleep due to the vow they'd taken before Rhys had chosen his spouse.

When they'd all gathered on land and the boats were secure, tied to rocks jutting from the sand, Jack said, “I need all warriors on the front lines! We need to show them we're not fucking around, just in case they decide Rhys is worth the threat of all of Sparta and its allies.”

“We're going to be diplomatic first,” Timothy added quickly. “We're talking this through. Only if things get really bad do we fight back, but I don't want any of us throwing the first strike, all right? We want to be civil about this if at all possible.”

The soldiers nodded along, eyes intent and trained on Timothy and Jack. Nisha had a hand on her sword, ready to protect them from any stray bandits. Roland and Lilith were going with Jack, Timothy, and Nisha. Athena and Janey would join them if things got ugly and they had to send word back about a fight. Janey didn't want herself or Athena involved unless they had to be.

A company of soldiers would follow Jack and the rest would join them in a few days' time as they started setting up any necessary camps around the city.

The city only got bigger the closer they got. The walls were easily ten stories high and the gates were like a terrifying maw, stretching out on the horizon. Jack grunted at the display. A real city wouldn't have to be so showy about its defenses.

“Let's hope this was all a misunderstanding,” Roland said, looking sideways at Lilith. “I think we're all tired from the journey and we'd much rather everything go smoothly.”

“If you keep saying that, you'll jinx us.”

Roland rolled his eyes. “I don't believe in small curses like that. If I speak loud enough it's much more likely that one of the deities will hear me and grant my request.”

“But what kind of price do you pay for stopping a war?” Lilith said, shaking her head.

Jack grit his teeth through the chatter. The trip on foot was a long one and he wouldn't be able to stand it if they kept casually throwing out debates about the gods while his hand still itched with the healed scars of his frustration at Rhys' loss.

They had to camp by the roadside that evening, and their walk the next day was much quieter. Jack slid his palm over the hilt of his sword every so often, feeling the hard pommel and remembering when he'd last struck a man through the chest with it. He was fully prepared to do it again.

When they reached the gates, they stopped, looking up at the towering walls. The sun was high in the sky and reflected dully off the rough stones, the wooden gates locked solidly against any threats. 

No one was at the gate itself, but there was a guard in the tower beside it. Jack frowned and started to charge forward but Timothy caught him on the shoulder, yanking him to a stop.

“Careful,” he warned. “We don't want to start a fight. Let me talk to them.”

“Ooh, mister big shot?” Jack teased, a hint of malice in the tone.

Timothy snorted and nodded, accepting the thinly veiled insult. “Yes. Stay back for a minute, keep our troops from making any brash decisions.”

Jack grunted and stepped back. Timothy walked up to the gate and looked up. “Hello?” he called. “My name is King Timothy of Mycenae! I need to speak with the king of the city as soon as possible! I bear you no ill will!”

A long moment passed. A man's head poked out over the edge of the tower at the top of the gate. “Who?” he shouted down. “King Timothy?”

“Of Mycenae!” he added. “I need to see your king! It's a matter of treason and broken honor! We think one of our own was taken to your city!”

The guard looked down, and then disappeared. Jack put a hand on his sword, tense.

The gate creaked. Groans and clacks sounded, and the great wooden door opened, scraping along the flattened dirt road. Guards were on the other side, holding the great wooden handles, and the one that had been on the tower greeted them.

“Well,” he said, eyes going wide at the sight of their group. “We haven't had visitors in quite a while. What did you want?”

Timothy opened his mouth but Jack cut him off, stepping up to the guard. “Where's my Rhys? I know he's in there!”

“Jack,” Timothy hissed, and tried his best to smile at the guard. “Could we speak with your king? It's an important matter. Someone dear to us was kidnapped by a citizen of your city.”

The guard went stiff. “Someone dear to you,” he repeated.

“His name is Rhys and if you don't give him to me this–”

“Jack!” Timothy growled. To the guard, he said, “If we could just speak to your king, we'd be very grateful. It's been a long journey for us to come here.”

The guard looked between them and at the rest of the group waiting behind them. He turned and snapped at the people holding the door, “Close the gates! King Tassiter's orders!” He was already two steps away, about to duck back into the city.

Jack's shock lasted just long enough for the door to start closing but not long enough to let the guard get away. He snarled and grabbed him by the back of the robes, yanking him back. The guards at the door hesitated, but when Lilith drew a knife and darted forward, fast as a snake, they closed them, the wooden doors locking before she could strike. Lilith growled and slammed a fist against the doors.

“What the fuck?” Jack spat, holding the guard up by the collar. “We just asked to see your king, asshat!”

“He said you . . . would come.” The guard was choking, his neckline digging into his throat where Jack held him aloft. “Looking for . . . his son's new wife.”

“New . . .” Jack's eyes narrowed. He dropped the guard only to catch him by the neck, drawing a blade and pressing it to the skin, hard enough for a thin line of blood to start dripping down his throat. “What the fuck do you mean, new wife?”

Timothy tried to intervene, chiding him. Jack yanked the guard away from Timothy, still holding up his knife.

The guard looked at him with wide eyes. Jack pressed harder. “You better start talking or I'm going to slit your throat just enough to make you drown in your own blood, you pathetic whelp.”

“The– the beauty of Sparta,” the guard sputtered, struggling anew, wincing when the knife dug harder into his skin. “Blessed onto us by the goddess of love for our king's firstborn son. King Tassiter said you would come, try to take him away from us.”

“Him?” Jack's lips lifted, baring his teeth. “You better hope you don't mean my Rhys.”

“T-That's his name. Rhys.” The guard's voice was barely a whisper now, afraid even to swallow at the threat of Jack's blade.

“Fucking– useless, you're fucking useless.” Jack pulled the knife back and aimed it down, ready to plunge.

Timothy's hand gripped his wrist, stopping him. Jack glared but Timothy pried him away from the guard and set the man down. Blood poured in a river down his neck. He coughed, spilling blood over his clothes and armor.

“Your king told you to close the gates if we came?” Timothy asked.

“Yes,” the guard wheezed, hands clasped around his neck, trying futilely to stop the flow.

“Then he's not going to give Rhys back.” He turned, meeting Jack's eyes. “For whatever reason, the king of Troy has made up his mind.”

Roland bent down by the guard, tearing part of his sleeve and pressing it to the man's throat. There was still too much blood; the guard's lips were turning blue, his skin too pale.

“Just kill him,” Jack said, deadpan. “It'd be kinder at this point.”

Roland glared up at him, but nodded, pulling his own blade out.

Jack turned to the city's gates, hearing faint shouts and people running around on the other side of it. They'd made themselves known, now. He might as well make their entrance loud.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, he yelled, “Hey, assholes! The kings of Sparta and Mycenae are here, and we want our citizen back! If you don't give Rhys up, it's as good as war from here on out! I'm warning you!”

There was no response from the other side, but Jack could hear shouts echoing over the walls.

“What now?” Lilith asked, leaning back, hands behind her head. “I can't imagine we'll be doing anything peacefully now.”

“We declare war,” Jack said, his voice hard like steel. “We'll head back towards the shore, keep our distance a little so they can't use a home advantage too heavily on us. I'll send a messenger out to deliver the official word tomorrow, they can respond however the hell they want.”

“So you were right,” Lilith said, staring up the great doors, hands tight at her sides. “They really did take Rhys to be a prize for Vasquez.”

“A blessing from a goddess,” Roland said, clicking his tongue as he wiped the blood from his blade on his ruined sleeve. “No wonder they didn't want to give him back. If they think that that's what's going on . . .”

Jack remembered August's words about the goddess of love; his blood boiled to think of someone so precious taken on the order of someone else. He'd like to give Yvette a piece of his mind, if he ever fucking met her. Right now the only people he could properly take his aggression out on were the ones trapped inside the great stone wall in front of him.

 

* * *

 

They made camp about halfway between their boats and the city. They could see its great walls but they had enough distance to set up tents and start planning strategies for their soldiers. They'd kept away from the road, positioned on a hill to better have a vantage of the landscape.

Jack was writing out a message to give to one of their runners to carry back to the shore, to tell the rest of their forces of what was happening, when the doors to Troy opened again.

“Jack!” Nisha called, opening the flap to his tent. “There's soldiers out there, with someone leading them! You'd better come here!”

Jack didn't waste time, abandoning his scroll and rushing out to meet the new sight. There were several dozen soldiers all around the gates of Troy, with a single figure at their center. It was an old man, too pale for a life in the sun, skin wrinkled with age. Jack couldn't see the details of his face but he recognized it all too well when the group stood their ground in front of Troy, not moving. It was a challenge.

Jack wasn't about to back down.

He finished his letter quickly and took a group of soldiers with him, marching toward the city. They stopped with a field of space between them, Sparta’s forces tense and guarded against the Trojan soldiers.

Jack could see their leader better now, dressed in bright colors with a golden circlet around his head, the mark of a ruler rather than a soldier. Their king.

“What do you want?” Jack called, his voice carrying over the field.

The man straightened, soldiers parting to make room. “Are you the king of Sparta?”

“You bet your ass I am!” Jack snarled. “Give Rhys back!”

“I won't!” The king was too far to see his expression but Jack could hear the determination in the echo of his voice. “He was given to us by the goddess of love and we would not shun a blessing such as this for my first born son's new queen.”

Jack's hands curled tight but he resisted the urge to grab his sword.

“Words,” Nisha reminded him, standing to his side, tension rolling off her shoulders. “If we attack before our reinforcements get here, we could be in for a nasty scene.”

“Not to mention they have a city to retreat to,” Timothy said, sighing. “Why did we have to come to their home for this . . .”

“Because they're fucking cowards,” Jack said. To the king and his crowd, he shouted, “You took what didn't belong to you! Rhys was mine, by marriage and by claim! If you don't give him back I won't have any choice but to declare war, for the city of Sparta and all of Mycenae! Do you really want to have all of the Greeks against you and your city?”

King Tassiter didn't even pause. “Better that than the wrath of the gods! Due apologies, King of Sparta, but we will not see our city burn at August’s hands!”

“Then you'll burn under mine!”

“You have one day to leave!” Tassiter spat. “One day to see your troops gone, or we'll launch an attack!”

“I'll launch it right here!” Jack drew his sword from his belt, lifting it up high.

“Jack, no! Don't antagonize them!” Timothy hissed.

“Fuck no!” Jack kept glaring down the length of the land at Tassiter, sword tight under his fingers. He had Rhys. He had Rhys in that damn city, Jack's _wife_ , and he was refusing to give him back. Jack didn't care what deities had done this and whatever the hell their plan for fate was; Jack was getting Rhys back or he was going to die trying.

Wind blew over the field. For a long moment it was the only noise between them. A great creak echoed over the land, the gates of the city opening again.

“Take your boats and leave, Greeks!” Tassiter shouted. “Before you end up dying at the gates of Troy!” He turned and ducked among the crowd of soldiers, practically running back to the shelter of his home. The soldiers followed swiftly and Jack didn't try to follow. If they tried to fight on Trojan ground they would only die. Even he knew that.

“They have him,” he snarled. “Timothy, what're our troops doing right now?”

“The ones on the beach? Still guarded and ready to come to our aid as soon as they hear of it.”

“Send another messenger,” he said, still staring at the gates, locked and unyielding. “Tell them to bring almost everyone here, just leave enough to guard the ships in case the Trojans try to sabotage us. We're camping out by the city to take them down before they can get enough room to work with.”

Nisha's brows went up. “You want to box them in?”

“As much as we can. Cut off their trade, keep them from sending for allies. Just because this is their turf doesn't mean they have any kind of advantage.” His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, so hard the knuckles turned white. “We'll corner them until they have nowhere left to hide Rhys from me.”

 

* * *

 

The gardens in Troy weren't as nice as Sparta. Maybe it was the landscaping. Maybe it was the flora. Maybe it was the fact that the gardens in Sparta had been sculpted to exactly Rhys' tastes after Jack had noticed how much Rhys liked to spend time there, going as far as to build them a small, walled off pagoda where they could have alone time when Jack wasn't busy conquering anything.

Rhys had never been much of a queen, despite his official title. He did his best to rein Jack in and help the people when they needed it, but the stress of such a position was often overwhelming. The gardens helped him clear his head and relax when everything around him felt too tight, too suffocating.

The Trojan gardens weren't the same. Rhys plucked absently at his robes, splayed across the stone bench he'd been sitting on for the past hour. Something had happened in the city; there was a loud commotion coming from the buildings below. Rhys had hoped for a second that it was Jack, but when enough time passed and no one led Jack in to claim his kidnapped wife at the city gate far beyond the palace, Rhys' hopes sunk again.

Quick, pattering steps echoed over the garden's stone ground. Rhys looked up and jolted when he saw Vaughn running toward him, skidding to a stop. He put his hands on his knees and wheezed. “Rhys!” he said, his breath choked. “Rhys, he's here, he–” Vaughn cut off, gasping as he stood up.

Rhys got up, hands fluttering nervously. “Vaughn? Do you need help?”

Vaughn shook his head, still breathing hard. “He's here! The– the king of Sparta. Your husband.”

Rhys' eyes went wide, mouth slack. “J-Jack?” He hadn't dared to hope . . .

“Yes!” Vaughn beamed, cheeks flushed. “I heard them talking to King Tassiter, he's outside the gates. I ran to get you.”

“What are we waiting for then?!” Rhys turned, looking at the garden entrance, imagining the sight of Jack's face after all these months. “Let's go!”

He started to run and heard Vaughn shout again, but not soon enough. A large body stepped into the garden entrance and blocked his way before he could get any farther. Rhys stumbled, nearly bumping straight into Vasquez. “Hey!” he complained. “Be careful!”

“Oh, I think it's you who should be careful.” Vasquez crossed his arms, making no move to step out of the garden gate. He raised an eyebrow. “Just where exactly do you think you're going, Rhys?”

“Uh.” Rhys swallowed. “I was told that Jack– my husband is here. If it's all the same to you, this little vacation in Troy has been way longer than I planned and I'd like to get back to him now.”

Vasquez scowled. Rhys backed away quickly. He knew that look by now.

“Actually, my father is going to deal with the problem right now,” Vasquez said, stepping closer. Rhys swallowed. Vaughn darted in front of him like a shield, his arm across Rhys’ chest. Vasquez didn't stop, standing only inches away and staring them both down. “Rhys,” he said, his voice low and rumbling like a panther, “whoever you were with before doesn't matter. You're _my_ wife, now. You need to respect that.”

“Excuse me?!” Rhys said. “Even if I wasn't already married, I'd never marry you! You fucking kidnapped me you asshole!”

Vasquez growled and reached out to grab him. Vaughn sidestepped and blocked him, their arms locking in a scuffle. It only lasted a minute and Vaughn toppled when Vasquez ducked down and slammed his shoulder into Vaughn's stomach, knocking him down with brute force. Rhys yelped and tried to scramble away but Vasquez already had a hand locked around Rhys’ wrist, dragging him out of the garden.

“Stop! Hey– Vasquez!” Rhys nearly tripped, Vasquez walking too fast for him. “I can't balance, you fucking ass!”

“You should have thought of that before losing that arm,” Vasquez said darkly. Rhys' heart thumped hard, a shiver passing over his spine at Vasquez's tone. He didn't have long to dwell; Vasquez dragged him away from the garden and across the courtyard of the palace. Rhys glanced over his shoulder; Vaughn was leaning on the stone wall of the garden, clutching his stomach, eyes downcast. He'd gotten into arguments with Vasquez before, trying to help Rhys, but Vasquez usually gave up before it broke into a fight. The strength Vasquez used now to pull him around like a doll made fear climb into Rhys’ throat, choking away any protests.

They walked around the palace, past servants and small buildings scattered over the grounds. Rhys looked at them, storage houses and servant's quarters that showed the magnitude of Troy's resources for the palace alone.

“Where are we going?” he asked quietly.

“The temple,” Vasquez said, clipped. “To teach you a goddamn lesson.”

Rhys' heart clenched. He looked over the courtyard to the low wall surrounding the palace, and the city beyond. He couldn't see the Trojan gates from here but he could imagine Jack on the other side, surrounded by however many forces he'd deemed necessary to have as backup when he came for Rhys. It had been so long and Jack was so close–

Rhys was yanked out of his thoughts when Vasquez halted. He skittered and nearly fell again, looking up at the building in front of them

It was like the temples back in Sparta, a small square building with a roof supported by columns. Vasquez gripped his wrist tighter and pulled him inside, up the steps and beyond the columns to the altar at the center. It was a low slab of stone with various statues placed around the edges, and a great statue of a goddess in the center.

Vasquez dropped Rhys to the floor. Rhys hissed, the shock vibrating through his ankles. He glared up, but Vasquez's attention was on the goddess in front of them.

“This used to be a temple for Fiona, the goddess of wisdom and war,” he said, staring at the face of the statue. “But it was rededicated to Yvette, the goddess of love, after I came back here with you in tow. King Tassiter knows how important it is to recognize when the gods give you a blessing.” He looked down sharply, eyes narrowed. “But you refuse to acknowledge that.”

Rhys shrunk back. Vasquez turned and stepped closer to the altar, hands held up. “Yvette!” he said, his voice ringing among the stones, bouncing off the heavy columns and settling like heavy lead in Rhys' ears. “You told me I could have the most beautiful wife in the world! And not only does he refuse to be my wife, but he's missing pieces of his own body!”

Phantom sensation ghosted around Rhys' missing arm. He clutched his hand over his middle, eyes fixated on Vasquez.

“You can't give me a broken gift! We had a deal! I _earned_ this and now I've got to deal with this little brat. There have to be people just as beautiful who aren't missing an arm, someone who'd actually be smart enough to realize that they want to be married to me.” He moved even closer, pointing an accusatory finger at Rhys, eyes fixated on the statue like it held the answers to the world, hypnotic in its power. “You promised me a beautiful wife and you gave me someone not worth his weight in the gold I could take from my city's treasury.”

“Shut up,” Rhys said, but his voice was weak and he could feel himself trembling. Vasquez's words sunk into the back of his mind. Broken. Worthless. He'd been told that so many times, had people look at him and feel sorry for him, or worse, feel sorry for _Jack_ , for being married to someone like him, someone injured and less than whole.

“How am I supposed to be married to someone like him?” Vasquez continued, practically growling out all of his grievances at the statue. “How do I know he loves me back when he's still fixated on that stupid old husband of his? Huh? How do explain all this shit I have to deal with? This isn't the reward you promised!”

“Shut _up_!” Rhys screeched. Vasquez stopped, glaring down at him. Rhys uncurled himself from the floor, one hand clasped over his shoulder, fingers pressed in tight to the scar tissue that ran rough underneath his robes. “I'm not broken,” he said, though his voice cracked and his could feel his legs shaking, ready to collapse back to the floor with a single push. “Stop– stop treating me . . . like a toy.”

Vasquez sneered. “I helped the goddess of love herself and was promised a reward. Instead I've got a little baby who won't even look at me and isn't smart enough to keep his own arm attached to his damn body.”

“I was in a _war_!” Rhys screamed, eyes clouding with tears. “Why do you think I'm a _wife_ and not a soldier, or a farmer? Why do you think I'm married to Jack instead of out there helping people? I get up every fucking day with pain and terrible nightmares that make me afraid to wake up, and– and it used to be that I had Jack there to help me. Now you're taking me from him, you–” He sucked in a sharp breath. “You can't fix me. You shouldn't _want_ to fix me. If you really cared about being married to me, you wouldn't be forcing me to do what I can't.”

He breathed hard, his throat stinging with the force of his screams. His knuckles were white, hand shaking against his shoulder. It was times like these, when the accident came flooding to the front of Rhys' mind, memories of sharp blades and people with darkness in their eyes, and the stabbing, gut wrenching pain of losing part of himself.

The first morning that Vaughn had come to wake Rhys for breakfast and found him curled on the bed with tears down his face, he'd stopped giving Vasquez any sort of courtesy. Vasquez, who was praying to the gods to fix Rhys to make him something he wasn't.

“I'm not your toy,” Rhys managed. “And I don't belong to you. I never will. Take me out of the city so I can see Jack and go home, please. I can't be married to you.”

Vasquez clicked his tongue and reached out again, snatching Rhys' arm from his shoulder. Rhys cried out but Vasquez ignored it, dragging him until their faces were inches apart. “I'm not giving up my prize so easily,” he said, and turned, taking them out of the temple.

“What? Vasquez!” Rhys pulled hard, useless against Vasquez’s strength. “You– you just said that you didn't want a broken wife! Why don't you pick someone better? Someone prettier, someone who _likes_ you?”

“Because no one else was a gift from the gods,” he said. He brought them back to the palace, taking a small door inside. All the servants they passed were headed toward the front doors, probably waiting to hear news of their new guests from Greece. Rhys tried to get their attention but they all averted their eyes, blind to his pleas. After Vasquez had punched one of them for interfering with his rough assault on Rhys weeks ago, none of them wanted to risk being dismissed from the palace, or even killed, for their trouble. Vaughn had been the only one able to stand up for Rhys.

He was dragged through the palace, up to the bedrooms, to the room he'd been staying in since he'd arrived in Troy. “I don't want any more trouble from you,” he said, throwing the door open and tossing Rhys inside. “You're staying here. My father and I are going to take care of your precious king of Sparta.”

Rhys scrambled to stand but Vasquez had already shut the door. He jiggled the handle but the door didn’t budge no matter how much he pulled uselessly at it. Rhys brought his fist up and slammed the wood, to no avail. He rushed to the window, looking out over the city and beyond the gates.

There were people. A crowd was settled in the field before the city, and farther beyond there were tents from a makeshift camp. Jack was here. His people were here. But it was a drop down the side of a plateau if he climbed out the window, and the door was locked.

Tears welled up in Rhys' eyes and he sunk down to the floor, fingers still gripping the window’s edge. He'd been afraid. Vasquez had looked like he would attack again, as if he might finally go all the way with his assault and hurt Rhys in the worst way. He still might do that, try to control him and abuse him into submission. If Vaughn weren't there, Rhys didn't know what he would do.

He only had one arm. Vasquez would overpower him and Rhys would lose the last bit of dignity he'd been able to keep.

Rhys wrapped his arm around his knees and bent his head down, letting out a gross, ugly sob.


	6. Chapter 6

War had broken out.

The Greeks and the Trojans were pitted against each other, both sides with advantages and weaknesses that kept the fighting constant and didn't let either side push forward.

August leaned his head against the stone walls of his home, sighing long and loud. Human conflicts were constant and petty, and not something he normally cared about. But this particular fight had the gods fighting, too.

They were waiting for him to talk about the conflict. After two years had gone by in the humans' war with no sign of ending, he'd decided to bring the gods to Olympus to talk over what could be done. Mostly because Sasha's every other word was about how Yvette had cheated and wronged her way into winning the apple. August was completely _done_ with it.

They all sat in a circle in the throne room, except Ellie, who tended to the fire in the center. August stepped in and took his own seat, Sasha on one side, Moxxi on the other. The gods were all watching him, waiting on his word.

“Let's get started,” he said, leaning forward and putting his hands on his knees, leveling each of them with a look. “This particular war is bigger than what the humans in the Mediterranean have been doing in the past few centuries, and we all know that some of us have personal investments in it. I think it's about time we talked.”

“Finally,” Sasha said. “You kept ignoring it and hoping the issue would go away.”

“Mortal conflicts are not our own,” August growled. “But, since this seems to be so personal, why don't we start where it all began?” He looked at Yvette, his glare like a knife. She startled in her seat, cheeks flushing.

Fingers tight on his knees, August said, “You're the one who offered a claimed queen as a prize for the mortal Vasquez. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Yvette sat up stiffly and scoffed, her nose high in the air. “I'm not the one who started this. Your lovely wife over there is the one who suggested we give offerings to Vasquez for deciding who the apple belonged to. She dug her own grave.”

August turned to Sasha sharply. “Is that true?”

“He deserved _something_ ,” she said, hands splayed out innocently. “A mortal making decisions for the gods is at risk of death. I thought he would feel more comfortable if we offered him something for his trials. Besides, she's the one who offered him something she couldn't give.” Sasha glared at Yvette, lips lifting to show her teeth like an animal. “I offered him land that wasn't being used and Fiona offered him wisdom and physical power. Yvette was the one who gave him a wife that already belonged to someone else.”

“I offered him the most beautiful mortal, it wasn't my fault he was already married.”

“You sold out a queen and tipped mortals into war!” Sasha snapped.

“All right!” August pounded his fist on the arm of his throne, the sound crashing through the room and echoing with rolls of thunder. All of the gods looked to him, eyes wide, caught with insults halfway out of their throats. “Damn it all,” he muttered, rubbing his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “So Yvette made an offer she couldn't keep, let's focus on that. The Greeks and the Trojans are at war, you all are fighting, is there . . . anything we can do to end this nonsense?” He looked up, meeting Yvette's eyes. “Where is that apple, anyway? Why don't we just get rid of it?”

Yvette went stiff, lips curling in a disgusted frown. “It doesn't matter where it is. We're not destroying it. I earned it fair and square.”

“You offered a wife that was already married,” Fiona said, speaking out for the first time. She was leaning her chin on one hand, splayed across the chair with the illusion of casualness. But August knew she'd jump up the moment a threat arose, holding out her spear in one hand to bring justice to the first person that offended her.

“Let's pretend this was all a misunderstanding,” he said slowly, measured, looking at each of the gods in turn. “Let's pretend Yvette didn't start a war on purpose.”

“Excuse me, I–”

August put a hand up, silencing her. “The apple has been placed and the conflict amongst the gods should have been put to rest. Mortal wars aren't our concern beyond who they pray to and how much of our blessings or curses we give to a particular side. So why, _why_ , are we still arguing over this? Huh?” He looked at Sasha, brow raised. “Are you hoping to steal the apple back from her?”

Sasha turned vivid pink under her dark skin, turning away quickly. “No! Of- of course not. I just want justice, the same as Fiona. Yvette cheated and offered the mortal carnal rewards he wouldn't be able to resist, something she didn't even have. She could have offered a specific mortal that she knew was unmarried and it probably would have gotten the same result.”

“That vain jerk already had a wife. He wouldn't have bit for anything less than gold,” Yvette seethed.

“Cut it out!” August slammed his hand again and another thunderclap echoed through the room. Every deity leaned away automatically. Ellie kept calmly tending to the fire in the center of the room, though she did threw a questioning look at August, who slumped in his throne.

“If you don't stop fighting, I'm going to have to issue orders, and I really don't want to do that,” August said slowly, letting his gaze trail slowly around the circle of chairs. Sasha and Fiona looked at one another, disgusted. Yvette pursed her lips, staring at the hearth in the center. “Well? Can we resolve this pleasantly?”

Fiona stood abruptly, the end of her spear clanking hard on the marble floor. “I'm done discussing,” she spat, stalking out of the room. Sasha hurried to follow, calling after her. August groaned and sank farther down his throne.

“It seems we're done here.” Yvette smiled, sharp and cruel, and left.

August's eyes flicked between everyone else in the room. “Fine,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Get out of here, all of you. I'm done with this.”

Down the hall, Sasha caught up to Fiona and grabbed her shoulder. “Where do you think you're going?”

“Somewhere to blow off steam,” she said, jerking out of Sasha's grasp. “Yvette thinks she can cheat her way to that apple and get away with it just because August doesn't want to deal with it. It's bullshit.”

“I . . . agree,” Sasha said slowly. “But you're not going to do anything you'll regret, are you?”

Fiona gripped her spear tight, knuckles white around the staff. “Not yet.”

Quick steps echoed behind them and they both turned to see Yvette walking towards them, eyes narrowed, walking with a sway like she could move mountains with her hips. She stopped short and crossed her arms, giving them both a look that would have made mortals wilt. As it was, Fiona and Sasha met her gaze easily. “Nice try, but August understands the meaning of a mistake. And he knows that a deal is a deal. The apple is still mine.”

“You don't deserve it,” Fiona hissed.

“You cheated,” Sasha added, firm. “And now the mortals are lost to war and we have to watch your smug face strutting around like you own everything. You're not anyone's ruler, Yvette. You just happened to get a nice prize with some sly tricks.”

“Maybe,” Yvette said, shrugging and walking around them. “But the war is pretty entertaining, I think. Did you know, most of those Greeks don't even believe that I was the one to bless Vasquez with Rhys? They think he was kidnapped with common mortal skill.” She stopped and looked at them over her shoulder. “I think it's time I show them the real wrath of a goddess.”

Sasha blanched. “Yvette, you can't! This is just some petty mortal affair!”

“And the Trojans are fighting over a gift I blessed them with,” Yvette said matter-of-factly. “It's only fair that I get involved.” She walked swiftly away, letting her words echo through the hall. Fiona and Sasha stared, wide eyed.

“She's going to wreck the Greeks,” Sasha said, shaking her head. “They won't be able to fight if the Trojans have a goddess' blessing.”

Fiona watched the empty space where Yvette had stood, a smile slowly curving over her lips. “No,” she said slowly, “they won't. Unless they have the blessings of a goddess on their side, too.”

“What?”

“We're supporting the Greeks,” Fiona said, beaming down at her. “Yvette isn't a goddess of war, her powers only extend so far. But this is _my_ territory, I know how to raise soldier morale and give them blessings on their weapons, and real _strength_. They'll be able to win easily.”

“Hey,” Sasha warned. “Be careful. If we give them too much they might think themselves immortal and stop giving us sacrifices and prayers. They already have Athena fighting for them. She's been blessed from the River Styx since she was a baby.”

“But it's not enough if Yvette supports them.” Fiona started walking, her pace quick, steps echoing in hurried clicks over the marble. “We have to show our blessings to the Greeks, and when they win and Vasquez's prize is lost, Yvette will see once and for all that she can't cheat her way to winning. Her prize will be forfeit and she'll have no choice but to give up the apple.”

“And I suppose you think you'll get it instead?” Sasha said, an edge to her tone.

Fiona slowed and swallowed. “We'll settle that issue when it comes to it,” she said quickly. “For now I need to see how these Greek soldiers are faring.”

Sasha made a noncommittal noise at the back of her throat and followed Fiona out, down to the clouds that would take them to see the Greek soldiers.

 

* * *

 

In the years since the war had first started, the Greek soldiers had spread along the shores of Troy, keeping a distance from the main city and slowly edging around it, keeping camps on all sides to watch the Trojan soldiers. The battles were random and sporadic, ranging from fights during the day to the late evening, from the entire army engaging in battle to small groups pinpointing vital areas of the Greek forces.

The war was taking a toll on everyone. They tried to give the soldiers' shifts, letting small groups stay out of battle to regain energy and morale, but it was getting harder the more Troy attacked, wielding spears and shields and launching into battle without hesitation.

For a trade city, Troy packed an incredibly large punch, unwilling to let up day after day, week after week, and the years that wore on made the Greek forces give up faster, more easily, their latest battles edging towards losing rather than winning. What Troy lacked in numbers against them, they made up for in determination, retreating home to their families at the end of each month to remind them why they were fighting.

Jack was sure they might have lost by now if it wasn't for their star soldier. Athena took hit after hit and killed dozens of soldiers over the course of the war, injuring many others, and the Trojans had started to learn to fear whenever she took the battlefield. Janey was a close second, following Athena's sword and shield with daggers and a body built like a wall.

The fact that they relied on both of them so much made it rather difficult when they both stormed into Jack's tent to demand they go home.

Athena stood in front of him with her hands on her hips, glowering down. “Jack,” she said slowly. Janey was glaring over her shoulder, smoldering with just as much anger. “We were here to help you _win_ a war. So far all that's happened is a lot of fights and no progress.”

Jack leaned forward, head resting in his hands. “I know, Athena, I know. But did you think a war would be short? It's a _war_ , it's gonna be shit for quite a while.”

“We haven't even made progress!” Athena snapped, waving her hand and nearly hitting a wooden tent pole. She glared at it and back to Jack. “We're nowhere closer to invading the city than we were when we started, and Rhys is still trapped in there! It's been _years_ , Jack.”

“A war takes years,” Jack growled, meeting her eyes.

“Years of fighting and dozens of deaths, all for one silly wife.”

“Hey!” Jack launched out of his chair, knocking it over. “Don't tell me you wouldn't do the same for Janey, or that Janey wouldn't do this for you. I love Rhys and I'm getting him back, damn it. They have no right to keep him from me!”

Athena leaned back, teeth bared like a panther. “If Janey were in danger I'd go get her myself, not risk the lives of a whole army for the sake of one person.”

“We know the meaning of a life, Jack,” Janey added sternly. “No matter how much it might pain us to be apart, we know we can't ask others to sacrifice themselves for us.”

“Then why'd you even come?” he hissed.

“Because we were offered payment,” Athena said, plain and simple. “And we've yet to receive anything. We can't keep fighting on some promise of love.”

Jack snarled and turned, snatching his bag from where it rested beside his sleeping roll. He dug into it hastily and pulled out a gold coin, flicking it at Athena. She fumbled and grabbed it, holding it up with a scowl. “One gold coin?”

“Do you think I brought my treasury here with me? Yes, one gold coin, and we're already providing food and shelter for the army so you should be fucking grateful.”

Athena reeled back, ready to raise her fist. Janey backed away, giving her space, and bumped into the front of the tent just as someone else was making their way inside.

Nisha raised a brow at Janey and leaned her head inside. “Jack?” she said. “We've got Trojan soldiers coming out of the gates. Looks like it's time to take arms again.”

“Gods, can't we get a moment's peace? Fuck!” Jack hurried to put his armor back on, covering his chest with plating and holding his favored sword, storming out of the tent with Nisha.

Jack's camp had maintained their spot on the hills above Troy's gate. They could see when Trojans left the city for an attack and it made it easier to gather forces for a battle. The Trojans had spread out, too, establishing camps around their city and stalking the Greeks. When they came out of the city gates it was time for Jack and his soldiers to be the main front.

“Another fight, surprise surprise,” Janey said, a hand on her hip to hover over her knives. “Think this will be the one that makes the difference, Jack?”

“Can the sarcasm,” Jack bit out.

Nisha was already holding a sword, grinning. “Let's show them what we're made of, shall we?”

The soldiers were ready and in minutes they were charging down, ready to meet to Trojans head for head. Jack led the charge, Nisha and Timothy at his side and Athena and Janey close behind. Lilith and Roland were spread out between the camps, neither of them wanting to be close to Jack, while Athena and Janey switched from camp to camp to give support where it was most needed.

They both knew they were valuable. It was no wonder they were harassing Jack.

The two forces met in the valley between camps, each side walking slowly but surely until there was only a few hundred yards between them. Jack narrowed his eyes, staring down the general on the other side. It wasn't their King Tassiter; Tassiter hadn't shown his face since declaring that he refused to give Rhys up in the name of the gods. He just hid in the city like a coward, protecting Rhys and his precious Vasquez, who hadn't been on the battlefields either.

According to Jack's spies, the closest person to Tassiter that they _had_ seen was his younger son, Vasquez's brother Vaughn. He held his own in battle and led them with an obvious strength, despite being leaner than most soldiers. Jack had seen him a couple of times but never close enough to get a very good read on him.

He wasn't in the group of soldiers attacking now. The general was someone he recognized, though, and the war had been going on for so long that he was able to recognize a few of the soldiers' faces as well. 

“Will you stand down?” Jack shouted across the valley. “Will you give me back what belongs to me and end this war?”

“We're never giving up our gift from the gods!” the general shouted back.

“That settles it,” Jack murmured. Louder, enough that his soldiers could hear, he yelled, “Charge!”

The battle was simple, at first. Jack led them ahead and the Trojans met them step for step until they clashed in the middle, shields colliding and swords ripping into the first bits of flesh. Jack ducked and weaved among them, keeping himself away from any pointed tips aimed near him while thrusting his sword out to catch whoever stepped in his way.

Soldiers mixed and it was impossible to keep track; Greeks and Trojans flew across the field. Jack could spot his own among them if he looked hard enough but he didn't dare take his eyes off himself for too long, lest someone break through his shield and end it all right then and there.

Janey was near the edge of the battle. She'd broken through the majority of the forces and roughhoused her way into the back, past most of the Trojan soldiers.

Jack wormed his way in and got near her. “Janey! Where the hell are you going?”

“To the gates!” Janey said. “I'm tired and I'm ending this _now_.”

“Wh–” Jack spun around but she was already charging, bursting through packs of soldiers to edge toward the looming Trojan gate that blocked the way into the city itself. “Janey! Fucking– damn it!” Jack lunged underneath the soldier in front of him and ran after her, gravel crunching under his boots, the sounds of swords and bodies clashing all around him.

Janey made it to the front gate, fighting against the soldiers that had followed her and stabbed in every direction. She fought back but it wasn't enough; one of them grabbed her around the shoulders and threw her onto the ground while another held her legs down fast.

“Janey!” Jack was too far away, blocked by soldiers attaching themselves to his back or running at his front, trying to stab him where his vital organs were. Jack snarled and barreled through them, sword flashing and shield battered in blood.

She was fighting them off, barely. Jack rammed into the soldier on top of her and stabbed at the one holding her, kicking them both to the ground and running them through in quick succession. He turned and grabbed her without hesitation, hefting her up and darting back through the crowd, glancing up to assess the battle.

There were dozens of Trojan soldiers on the ground, but there plenty of Greek ones, too. Jack clucked his tongue and stood taller, calling, “Fall back! Everyone, fall back!”

The Greeks all jolted back in surprise and tentative joy crossed the Trojan's faces. In less than a second the Greeks ducked out of battle, crashing past anyone blocking their paths and retreating back to their camp on the hill. “This isn't over!” Jack growled, tucking Janey close and running, giving the Trojans a wide berth and going straight for camp.

The Trojans didn't follow; they never did. Whether it was cockiness or basic war etiquette, Jack didn't care. The only thing that mattered right now was getting Janey to the nearest healer as soon as he could. His armor was already stained with fresh blood from the wounds ripped into her face and he could feel how cold her skin was against his arms.

He wasn't losing one of his best warriors. That wasn't a sacrifice he would allow.

 

* * *

 

Athena paced back and forth in front of the healer's tent, fists curled tight at her side, her steps quick as she muttered under her breath. She'd been pacing for the last hour like a machine, whirring back and forth with words about filthy Trojans and unnecessary wars.

Jack might have tried to stop her, but Nisha had suggested he imagine Rhys in Janey's place, and the pain of that was all too real. Jack had woken up too many nights before the sun rose to Rhys crying from residual pain in his arm to blame Athena now.

Janey had several gashes down the left side of her face and cuts in her left abdomen where the Trojan soldiers had wedged knives under her armor. They hadn't damaged her eyes, thankfully, but the bleeding was enough that the doctor had nearly gone into a panic and ushered Janey in immediately, getting as many other healers as they could to help.

The doctor emerged several hours later, covered in bits of dried blood, smelling of alcohol. Athena stopped short in front of the tent. Jack approached quickly and stood beside her, raising an eyebrow. “Well?”

“She'll live,” the doctor said, breathing a deep sigh as they wiped their hands over a cloth to rub the blood away. “It will take time for her to heal and she'll have nasty scars. They cut her up deep. Looked like they were having more fun than they should have.”

“Thank you,” Athena said, her voice strained. “Can I . . .?”

“She's sleeping,” the doctor said, smiling warmly. “You can see her this evening if she wakes up, but don't go bothering her unnecessarily.”

Athena swallowed thickly and nodded. “Okay. I appreciate everything you've done.”

The doctor shrugged and laughed quietly. “I'm here to serve Sparta. It's my duty.”

“You're doing a great job,” Jack said.

The doctor nodded and turned, going back into the tent with a final wave to them both. Athena stood silently in front of the tent for a long minute and cursed under her breath, storming away.

“Athena,” Jack said. “I'm sorry this happened. She just– she wanted to end it so badly, she went right for the gate. I have no idea what she thought she was going to do. One person can't invade a whole city.”

“You did this,” Athena spat. “We'd talked so many times about ending this whole thing, packing up and leaving. We were so _done_. This war has taken enough lives and gone on for enough years.”

Jack frowned, matching her pace, following Athena out to the tent she'd shared with Janey. It was much smaller than all the others, meant for two where the other tents were meant for ten or twenty. She ducked inside quickly, the flap slapping closed. Jack lifted it and poked inside.

He'd never seen their tent, never had a reason to. Janey and Athena had, naturally, put their bedrolls together and used the rest of the space for their weapons and supplies. It was efficiently organized, boxes stacked atop one another and weapons of various sizes lined up near the back against a slab of wood. Jack knew that they'd brought a lot of firepower but had never bothered to check and see just how much it was.

“This is it,” Athena said, glaring up at him and pulling a rough bag from one corner, yanking the top open and stuffing the nearest possessions inside. “Janey and I are leaving as soon as she's well enough to travel. I don't care if it's a month or three or whatever, but the second she's well again we're taking one of the small boats and going home.”

“What? You can't!” Jack stepped inside the tent and crossed his arms. “You gave your word, you'd fight for Sparta.”

“We said we'd fight for the money,” Athena spat. “The only thing you've given us is that pathetic gold coin. That's hardly enough for the years of service we gave to you, Jack. I _know_ Janey and I are the only reasons you've won some of these battles.”

“Don't turn your nose up at gold,” Jack warned.

“I'll turn my nose up at whatever I want, including you, because so far this war has been pointless!” Athena slammed both hands down on the floor, so hard even Jack winced at how painful it must have been. Athena didn't so much as flinch, just shook her head and curled her fingers, twisting them in the mat that covered the ground. “If I'd been there– I could have protected her, I could have done something . . .”

“There's no use in dwelling on 'could haves,'” Jack said, stepping close and kneeling beside her. He reached up to put a hand on her shoulder but Athena jerked away, nostrils flaring, teeth bared like she would rip his throat out.

“No!” she said, standing quickly. The bag of random belongings lay abandoned and Athena ducked back out of the tent. Jack cursed and followed her to the edges of their camp. Athena stopped and stared out at the ocean that stretched beyond the edges of Troy's territory. The Greek ships still waited at the shores, tended to and protected by a group of soldiers. More than once the Trojans had tried to sabotage their ships, but with their backs against the water the Greeks had seen them coming from miles away. In the end they still had most of their ships intact.

“We're taking a boat and getting out of here,” she said. “I'll fight while Janey is recovering, but after that, we're gone. We can't keep fighting for your wife, Jack. It's not worth all the death.”

“Isn't there any way to convince you to stay?” Jack said, following her eyeline out toward the smaller boats, tied at the edges of the shoreline, ready to be used for an escape at any given moment.

“Not unless there's some greater good to all of this.” Athena shook her head. “Or you pay us more. But you made it clear that you didn't come here with all your treasury sorted in your back pockets.”

Jack's lips thinned, but he had no response. He and Athena continued to look out over the shoreline and the boats waiting for the rest of the Greek army.

 

* * *

 

The news that Athena would be taking Janey and leaving spread quickly throughout the Greek forces. Athena stayed in Jack's camp while Janey recovered in the doctor's tent, but the rumors spread to the rest of the camps like lightning, messengers carrying the rumor along with any official letters.

Morale dropped like a stone. A month after Janey's injuries, when she was almost recovered enough to leave, the soldiers had lost nearly all hope. There was talk of expected deaths and retreat plans, what they could do to avoid risking their lives at all costs instead of charging into battle. Jack kept the battles as few and far between as he could manage. Troy attacked them once and he let the soldiers respond appropriately, but otherwise didn't send anyone into the fray.

Now he sat in his tent, head in his hands, at a loss for words.

“They're all in mourning and we haven't even lost yet,” he growled. “Athena was our best warrior, but, shit, I thought these people had a _little_ confidence in themselves. They're Spartan soldiers for fuck's sake, I trained them to be relentless!”

Nisha and Timothy were both standing in front of him, Nisha leaning dangerously far into the main supporting pole of the tent, Timothy stiff and as distant from all of Jack's belongings as he could manage to be in the small space, hands fluttering like a baby bird's wings.

“To be fair,” Nisha said, slow and patient, “you had them relying almost exclusively on Athena and Janey's talents. Lilith and Roland are excellent warriors in their own right, as well as others. They're all just discouraged about losing our most powerful people. They'll pick up as soon as they realize it's not the end of times.”

“It's understandable,” Timothy said, his tone soft and smooth, attempting to soothe Jack's nerves. “It's been a long war and we've had little results other than weakening the Trojan forces and boxing them into their city. If we don't do something significant soon we'll look like we have no advantage, no plan.”

“I know,” Jack said, breathing out so hard it felt like his entire body shook. “Everyone's complaining about how goddamn long it's been. Don't they know what _war_ is?”

“Yes, but . . . Jack, a lot of wars don't stretch quite this far. It's been five years. Our soldiers want to go home, see their families, rest and recuperate.” Timothy stepped closer and bent down, grabbing one of Jack's hands, their eyes meeting. “Perhaps it's time we considered ending this, once and for all?”

“What?!” Jack jerked away and stood quickly. “ _End_ it? You want to abandon Rhys to those jackals?!” He pointed behind him, toward Troy. “These soldiers are tired after years of fighting?! I bet Rhys is tired and scared and worried after years of being stuck in there! Who knows . . .” Jack stopped, swallowed, unwilling to let his voice shake even in front of his most trusted companions. “Who knows what the hell that creep Vasquez has done to him? Rhys has suffered _enough_. I can't give up on getting him back.”

“He's got a point,” Nisha said, unruffled. “Rhys is one person. You're risking a whole army.”

“I've risked more for less,” Jack pointed out, breathing out hard through his nostrils like a bull ready to charge. “Just try and convince me Rhys isn't worth saving. I'd run in there and get him myself if it were physically possible.”

Nisha pursed her lips and stood up straight. “Is that so, Jack? You'd risk yourself if you could?”

“Of course! You think I like having to start a war over this?!”

“Well.” Nisha clucked her tongue and said, “What if you _could_ end it all at once?”

Timothy furrowed his brow at her. Jack stared, impatient.

“Duels are something that most people wouldn't run away from,” she said, lifting both hands up, palm out, like two sides of a scale. “You challenge this King Tassiter to a duel, one last battle to end it all so everyone can go home.” She lifted one hand. “You, versus,” she lifted the other, “a warrior that Troy sends out. King Tassiter is too chicken to fight himself, we know that. But I bet he's also too cocky to back down from a challenge, especially following his tired lines of Rhys being a gift from the deities.”

Jack flinched, the muscles in his arms tightening. He'd almost forgotten about that. He still had the scars from where he'd ripped open the skin healed by the king of the gods, who'd told him that Rhys was an unfortunate mix up in a debate between the deities themselves. That of all people Rhys would be chosen to take part in the gods' debates seemed unlikely, but Jack knew Rhys. He would be wanted by anyone and Jack could believe the gods would want to use him, too.

“A duel, huh?” he muttered. Nisha was right; King Tassiter wouldn't fight. He'd send his best warrior out instead. Jack was a skilled fighter himself. If he could have sent Athena out, it would have been smarter, but he’d just said he would risk his life for Rhys. It'd be a coward's move to let someone else fight for him now. And he knew he loved Rhys more than anyone else in the entire Spartan army. He would have what it took to face whoever Tassiter sent.

He looked up, meeting Nisha's eyes, a fierce glare in his own. “I'll do it. To end this gods damned war, I'll challenge Tassiter. I'll _win_ and we'll get Rhys back, and we can all go home.”

Nisha grinned and clapped happily. “That's the spirit! Shall I get a messenger sent out, rush a paper to the city and see how Tassiter responds?”

“Wait! Wait wait, is this a good idea?” Timothy glanced between them both, face paling when they both grinned at him. “Jack, you could be killed! There's no telling who he'll send!”

“But they won't want to win like I do,” Jack said. “No gift from the gods or command from their king can compare to how I feel about Rhys. And I didn't become king of Sparta for no reason, Timothy. I fought my way up the throne, tooth and nail.”

Timothy grimaced and fluttered his hands again, searching for an escape, but there didn't seem to be one. Jack was set and Nisha was still grinning delightedly at the idea of a brawl. “It's– Jack, please think it over!”

“I have,” he said, looking toward the front of the tent. He stepped up and pulled the flap back, looking out at the stretch of tents and people milling around the camp. A few looked up when they spotted him, bowing or waving to acknowledge him. Jack waved back and nodded, affirming. “These people have been risking their lives for me and my causes. As much as I think they're moaning over the loss of Athena, Nisha is right. They're tired. So am I. I want the chance to end this before it gets worse. And the only way to do that is to prove to Tassiter that I'm willing to give myself up for Rhys' sake.” He dropped the tent flap and turned to Nisha. “Can you have someone write out a message and send it to the city? Read it over, you know what I like to sound like when I send these things.”

Nisha smiled and gave him a mock bow, giggling. “Rest assured, my king, I will make the most honorable challenge.”

“Good.” Jack looked at Timothy. “Tell the troops what's going on, send other people out to the other camps. If this duel ends ugly or Troy tries to pull something I want as much back up as I can get. There's no way after all this that Tassiter won't try and have something else up his sleeve.”

“I . . .” Timothy sighed, slumping. “Yes, Jack. I'll do that.”

“Great. In the meantime I'm going to sharpen my sword and find someone to do some exercises with.” Jack brought up his arm and flexed his hands a few times, feeling the sore stretch from his daily training routine. “I have to stay in top shape if I'm going to face down whoever Tassiter throws at me.”

Nisha nodded loyally and tromped out of the tent, her boots hitting the rough ground with a satisfying crunch. Timothy hesitated by the tent door but left as well, running with hurried steps in the opposite direction. Jack waited a moment, watching them go, and left, toward Athena's tent. He might as well make use of her while she was still around.

 

* * *

 

Predictably, Tassiter refused to give Rhys up and stood to the challenge of a duel without question.

Messengers ran between the camp and the city. Jack was fully prepared for one of them to come back with a knife in their throat but Tassiter apparently wasn't _that_ much of a coward. He did, however, insist that the duel be in front of the city and that if the Greeks lost, they leave Trojan lands forever and not dare set foot on Tassiter's shores again.

That wasn't happening, but making the promise was easy. In two weeks' time they would have their best warriors face one another in a fight to determine the outcome of the entire war.

Jack didn't mention that he'd be the one fighting, but he didn't need to. If they disclosed who the warriors would be there was a chance of espionage and one side gaining an unfair advantage. Better to go into it blind, and Jack did, arming himself with his best sword, and a shield made of hard metal lined with the toughest leather that resisted a blade's cut like stone. It was heavy on his arm but durable, just what he would need for whoever Tassiter sent his way.

The rough ground in front of Troy was easy to take a stance on and Jack kept a tight grip on the pommel of his sword, ready for a sneak attack in case Tassiter was as underhanded as he thought. On either side of him stood Nisha and Athena, both with weapons out and ready. Athena was leaving with Janey as soon as the duel ended, whether they won or not, and Jack couldn't blame her anymore. He'd seen Janey's scars. That she stood with him during the last hours spoke well for her integrity.

The great gates of Troy loomed above as the sun edged towards the highest point in the sky. Its rays beat down on Jack's brow and he wiped the beginning beads of sweat away, eyes fixed on the wooden gates that stood still as the stone wall around them.

Finally, they creaked. Jack grit his teeth as they parted and the Trojan forces marched onto the field.

 

* * *

 

Rhys looked out over the city from the edges of the garden, hands twisting in his robes. He could see people moving around the Greek camp just outside the city. He'd heard the rumors; today one of Troy's best soldiers was going to fight one of the Greeks’ to end the war once and for all. If Greece won, Rhys would be able to go home. He could finally see Jack.

But if they lost, he'd have to stay in Troy for the rest of his life.

Vaughn moved closer and put a hand over Rhys' shoulder. “It'll be okay,” he said. “I'm sure whoever they send will win and you can go home.”

“And if they don't?” Rhys' voice was high pitched with worry. He coughed a few times to get rid of the scratch it put in his throat. He didn't _mean_ to look weak but five years away from his husband had strained him.

Vaughn made a soothing noise and followed Rhys' gaze over the garden's walls, down the plateau to where the Greeks had settled outside the city. They were too far to see anything beyond vague shapes and the movement of people along the hill. It strung Rhys' nerves like a taut wire to know Jack was so close yet so far; that he'd _been_ close for years and Rhys had never been able to get to him.

“Even Tassiter has to know that this has been dragging on,” Vaughn said, confident. “If we give you back we can end everything and get on with our lives. It isn't worth it to keep giving soldiers over to the Greeks for some gift from the gods.”

“You say that like you don't believe in the deities, dear brother.”

Rhys and Vaughn flinched, both whirling to see Vasquez standing behind them, Tassiter at his side. Tassiter had his usual, unpleasant scowl, hands crossed tight behind his back and his entire body pulled up like he were made of wood. Vasquez was relaxed, grinning at Vaughn like someone who'd caught a burglar in their crime.

“Of course I believe,” Vaughn said. “But I'd like to think they're not cruel enough to want to keep Rhys trapped here when he clearly wants to return to his husband.”

“Whatever you think doesn't matter,” Tassiter said, stepping forward. “Rhys was given to us by the Goddess of Love and I won't snub such a gift. You can deny it all you like if you wish to bring misfortune down on our city, but in the meantime I have a task for you.”

Vaughn's brow furrowed. He stood straight and said, “What do you need me to do, my king?” The formality of the tone didn't have any hint of someone speaking to their own father. Rhys' eyes shifted to Tassiter, whose expression held nothing but irritation and impatience.

“As you may know, the Greeks have challenged us to a duel. One fight to end the war. If they lose, they will leave our lands for the foreseeable future.”

“Yes, I know. It's set for tomorrow.”

Vasquez was grinning wider, his eyes narrowed with disturbing pleasure that made Rhys duck his head, shaking off the creepy stare.

“The Greeks will no doubt send their best soldier,” Tassiter said, moving closer. “That means, if we wish to win, we must send out our own best. And that, my son, is you.”

Vaughn's eyes went wide. Rhys inhaled sharply, the breath a stabbing knife in his throat. Vasquez laughed, satisfied like a dog with a slab of fresh meat.

Face paling, Vaughn said, “What?! I'm not even a formal soldier! You have dozens of captains and generals you could send in my place!”

“Dozens that don't fight as well as you,” Tassiter said. His voice was firm, unwavering. “I've already made up my mind. If you don't wish to dishonor our city and our people, you'll do as I say and face the Greeks tomorrow at high noon.”

“But,” Rhys protested, flinching when all eyes turned sharply to him, “isn't Vasquez stronger? No offense to Vaughn, but, uh, Vasquez regularly slams him into the palace walls and stuff.”

“Physically? Vasquez has an advantage. But Vaughn was formally trained whereas Vasquez was not. When it comes to a fight with sword and shield, Vasquez would be unable to hold his own for more than a few minutes. Not to mention _attacking_ someone with brute force in a confined hallway does not exactly lead towards showing off one's hand-to-hand combat skills.” Tassiter gave Vasquez a sharp look. 

Vasquez made an afronted noise. “I could fight just as well as Vaughn! I just . . . haven't been raised as a prince. Farm work is hard labor, it isn't my fault I was never given a sword.”

“So it will be you.” Tassiter nodded to Vaughn, confirming the decision.

“Wait! I don't have to agree to this just because you're the king!” Vaughn's nostrils flared and he stood as tall as he could manage, still shorter than everyone there. “You can't make me fight in a duel, it's unjust.”

Tassiter sighed, shoulders dropping. “You're right. I can't force you. But I _can_ take away your rights as the second born prince.” He squared his posture, harsh again, and he spoke fast, like lightning. “If you don't fight tomorrow with the aim to win, I will disown you and send you to live out your days on a farm like I did with your brother. If you don't think I could, just remember that Vasquez was only three when I sent him away and I was not assured he would live. You are a capable and, I know, strong man who could easily make his own way if you don't starve to death immediately. I would have no qualms about sending you away over this.”

Vaughn choked, backing up like the words had struck him in the face. “King Tassiter– you'll ruin the city! Vasquez was _cursed_ to ruin it, and he's not trained well enough to take over after you. You can't threaten to abandon me over this fight. It's one duel!”

“One duel that will decide the fate of the war.”

“Unless you're too scared?” Vasquez challenged. Tassiter glared and held his hand up, silencing him. Vasquez growled, turning away and wrinkling his nose.

“That's the last thing I'm worried about,” Vaughn said, his fists curled at his side. “This isn't fair and you know it.”

Tassiter grinned like a cat. “It doesn't have to be fair. I'm your father. Get ready to fight tomorrow. You'll need to be in the best shape so you can win and end this ridiculous war once and for all.”

Vaughn slumped. Tassiter turned to leave, his hand on Vasquez’s shoulder.

Rhys leaned against the garden wall, shoulders hunched, making himself small. If Vaughn lost and got himself killed he'd lose a friend, even if he got to go home. And if Vaughn didn't lose then he was stuck in Troy. He couldn't even _do_ anything.

“Can I–” He stopped and swallowed, looking up. Tassiter and Vasquez halted, glancing his way. “Can I watch the fight?” he asked, tentative and soft.

“Yes,” Tassiter said, and Rhys' hopes had a second to flutter up before he said, “you can watch from one of the palace towers.”

“But– I'm the center of this whole thing.” Rhys pushed off the wall and gestured to himself. “Shouldn't I _be_ there to watch the duel that's ending the whole war?”

“And give the Greeks a chance to steal you away before anything is settled? No.” Tassiter turned up his nose and continued walking. “There will be guards posted at your door. Don't you dare take a step out of the palace tomorrow!”

Rhys frowned and slumped back down, hopes crushed into the stone path of the garden by Tassiter's unwavering steps. He'd _never_ been allowed to leave the palace without watch, only going to the main city a few times in the entire time he'd been stuck there. Vasquez didn't like losing sight of him even though Vaughn had turned into his personal watchdog, and the city was considered too dangerous for a prize from the deities like him.

Rhys couldn't even see Jack when it might be the last time he'd ever set foot in Troy.

“This isn't fair,” he muttered, standing up, eyes already crowded by tears. “This isn't fair!”

“None of it is fair,” Vaughn said. He saw Rhys' face, the tears already falling down his cheeks. “Oh. Oh, shit. Rhys . . .”

“Stop,” he said. “I– I know how these duels work. You'll end up dead if you lose and if you win, I . . .” He breathed out hard, a choked noise scraping out of his throat. It was like a hot knife sliding down his windpipes and he could already feel his eyes getting sore, more tears coming down as he finally let his misery spill out, a river built up after five years of being trapped behind the stone walls of Troy.

He'd cried before, but not like this. Not when he knew his husband might finally be leaving him for good.

Vaughn stepped close and put his hand on Rhys' shoulder, the other one sliding down his arm, cupping his hand. “I can . . . I can throw the fight,” he said, so quiet it was barely above a whisper. “I hate seeing you like this, Rhys, it's been years. I want you to go home.”

“You don't understand.” Rhys hiccuped. He wanted to wipe his tears but Vaughn was holding his hand and the touch was soothing, the only gentle contact he could have in a place like this. “These– these aren't just Greeks, they're Spartan soldiers. Jack trains them to kill. If you throw it, if you show any kind of weakness . . .”

“But you're miserable.”

“But you can't _die!_ ” Rhys snapped, meeting Vaughn's eyes, seeing the fear in them that matched his own. “You can't die, you're . . .” His friend, his only comfort, the support he'd had for years while he waited aimlessly for the end of a war he could barely see from his bedroom window. “You're too important,” he finished, because he couldn't say all those things, not when . . . not when Jack had been his whole world for far too long.

Vaughn made an upset noise and squeezed his hand, stepping back. “Come on. Let's go eat something and I'll figure out the best place in the palace for you to watch the duel. It's not going to be great anywhere, it's too far. But there has to be someplace better than your room, right?”

“Yeah.” Rhys swallowed, suffocating any more sobbing noises that wanted to come up. “Let's go and, uh, do that.”

They left the garden together, and Vaughn didn't say anything when Rhys grabbed his hand again, holding on tight as they walked through the courtyard and back into the Trojan palace.

 

* * *

 

Jack couldn't tell who was supposed to fight him. There were at least a dozen men that marched out of the palace gates, Tassiter among them and not at all dressed for a battle. He wouldn't be the one fighting, not that Jack was surprised.

What _did_ shock him was that Vasquez of all fucking people was in the crowd, standing beside his father and looking like a peacock pluming its feathers, dressed in royal colors and puffing his chest out as they marched. Jack grit his teeth and resisted snarling under his breath. Nisha put a hand on his shoulder, briefly, reminding him of why they were here.

One fight to end it all.

There was another man directly to Tassiter's left, dressed as the other Trojans were in soldier's armor, but at the king's side it was clear that he held some kind of status. A general or captain, some leader. Jack's eyes zeroed in on the sword at his belt and the heavy shield looped over one arm. He was small though, lean and pale. He looked like a prince, like Vasquez, aside from his dress. They didn’t expect Jack to fight someone so small, did they?

The Trojans halted across the battlefield, closer than they'd ever dared to be without a direct fight. “Greetings,” Tassiter said, and for the first time Jack heard the nasal quality of his voice clear as a bell from the close distance. “I see you've come prepared with backup forces,” he sneered.

“So have you,” Jack said, jutting his chin toward the soldiers.

Tassiter glanced back and smirked. “These are just to make sure no one tries anything funny during the duel. We wouldn't want any cheating.”

“Same for them,” Jack said, gesturing to Nisha and Athena. “One last fight, and then I'm done. We're taking Rhys and leaving.”

“So you say.” Tassiter waved a hand and the smaller man beside him moved forward, raising his shield. “Our best warrior happens to be my son, Vaughn. Where is _yours_?”

Jack puffed his chest out and grinned, putting as much threat as he could into the twisted expression. “You're looking at him. If I'm going to risk everything on one fight, it's going to be me who does the fighting. I don't know anyone better to defend my Rhys.”

Tassiter frowned, clearly thrown off. Jack's grin widened. No doubt he'd assumed Jack would send in Athena or Janey, even Roland or Lilith. He'd thought Jack would be the same coward king, the type to use other people and never back up his own claims.

Jack wasn't above using people. But not for this. Not for Rhys.

“Then it's settled.” Jack clanged his sword against the edge of his shield, the sound of pinging metal rolling across the field. “Myself versus your son. Whoever walks away wins, and the losing side has to agree to the terms. If I win, you give me back Rhys and let us leave in peace.”

“And if you _lose_ ,” Tassiter hissed, “you leave this place without him, and never contact us again. You will not take away our precious gift from the gods.”

“That remains to be seen.” Jack glanced at Nisha and Athena, both poised like guard dogs. “Get back, you two. This is one-on-one. I'll signal if I think they're pulling a fast one on us.”

Athena nodded and quickly backed off, glad to be out of the fight. She probably had a boat set to take Janey away the minute a winner was declared. Jack didn't blame her.

Nisha hesitated, her thumb pressed hard into the hilt of her sword. Jack shook his head and jerked it back to signal her away. Nisha glared at the Trojans and said, “Good luck,” backing away slowly. She kept her sword out, ready and waiting.

Vaughn stepped forward. Jack walked to meet him, stopping in the center between the two sides. The Trojan soldiers didn't move; neither did the Greeks.

Jack brought his shield up and met Vaughn's eyes with a steely look. “Well?”

“I'm fighting for my city,” Vaughn said. “But before we start . . .” He glanced to the side and back up. He was small, much smaller than Jack, and if he were the one they'd sent out he had to have skills Jack couldn't assess from just a glance. When he met Jack's eyes again, though, his own were wide and honest. “I know Rhys,” he said, so low that no one but Jack could hear. “He's my friend and a wonderful person. And I want him to go home. I won't . . . I won't back down.” Vaughn's hand tightened around his sword. “But if you win, don't hesitate. Kill me and take Rhys, please. He needs to go home.”

Jack frowned, brow furrowing. Whatever he'd expected when he met the Trojan warrior, it wasn't _concern_ for Rhys. He couldn't see any lies in Vaughn's face, only desperation and a slight hope. It was . . . uncomfortably kind.

“You're telling me things I already know,” he hissed. “If you thought I'd hesitate when Rhys was involved, you've got me pegged wrong.”

Vaughn shook his head before Jack had finished speaking. “I know. But it needed to be said. Shall we start?”

“Before everyone else gets antsy.” Jack stepped back and gave a shallow bow, holding his sword up. Vaughn did the same.

“The last one standing wins this fight!” Tassiter said, a loud call to the entire crowd. “Begin!”

Vaughn lunged. Jack ducked and spun, avoiding the blow. They both brought their weapons up and their swords clanged, a harsh ring of metal.

It was obvious almost immediately why the Trojans had picked Vaughn. What he lacked in size he made up for in speed and quick thinking, dodging Jack's attacks and deflecting his sword when he couldn't block it. When he _did_ have to block he relied on his shield, staying low to the ground and forcing Jack to keep moving.

His shield hit Jack in the chest. Jack braced against it, shoving the end of his sword between the shield and his body to force it away, throwing Vaughn's arm up and out. Vaughn stumbled and Jack took the opening where he could, shoving him down.

Vaughn rolled and there was distance again, both standing and breathing hard, gathering themselves to lunge.

The hot sun beat down on them as they moved. Beneath the leather armor Jack could feel himself sweating, skin sliding over wet leather and cotton padding, constantly having to readjust the grip on his sword. Vaughn's hair had started falling into his eyes and Jack could feel his own plastered to the side of his face.

“You best give up!” Tassiter cried. “Rhys belongs to Troy!”

“Shut up!” Jack snarled, thrusting the sword out. It skated off the side of Vaughn's armor, digging in but not hitting skin. He pulled back and ducked again, just narrowly avoiding a shield to the face.

The anger rolling off his shoulders must have been obvious because Tassiter kept shouting, trying to egg Jack on through the stabs and blows. Jack tuned him out as best he could, ears perking when he heard Rhys' name but the words otherwise blending into an inconsistent mess. He didn't dare take his eyes off Vaughn, swords flying and sweat dripping, the ground around them scuffed with the marks of their bodies being thrown around the field.

The second Vaughn pulled his shield away from his body, trying to turn and get leverage for another thrust, Jack rammed into him, shoving him to the ground. The shield twisted over Vaughn's arm, the end bending into his side, and Jack planted his sword next to Vaughn's head, so close it came down on his hair and cut the ends. He pushed his arm over Vaughn's throat and pressed hard, cutting off his air. “There,” he spat. “You're _done_.”

Vaughn's face was rapidly going pale. He nodded as best he could with Jack's bulging arm lodged under his chin, his feet scraping desperately at the ground to try and shove Jack off of him.

Jack meant to kill him, to grab the sword and stab it into his throat. But Vaughn's words at the beginning of the fight were still pinging in the back of his mind, itching under his spine. He'd seemed desperate, even eager, to have Jack win and take Rhys away. He'd _wanted_ Jack to win, for Rhys to be able to finally go home.

Whoever Vaughn was, he wasn't loyal to Tassiter. Not for this.

Jack growled low, “Stay there,” and stood, yanking the sword from the ground and pointing it down at Vaughn's face, looking across the field at Tassiter. “It's done,” he said. “I won.”

Tassiter scowled, so severe that Jack could practically see the way it carved through the wrinkles he already had in his pale skin. “The last man standing wins. This fight isn't over.”

“But I _am_ the last man standing.” Jack jerked his chin down towards Vaughn. “Do you really want me to kill your son after he's already conceded the fight? Or would you rather keep your flesh and blood and let me take my wife home? Are you really ready to sacrifice more for this?”

“I won't let you end a fight before it's done!”

“Look around you!” Jack held up his shield arm, gesturing as best he could to both sides. “These people have been fighting for years, Tassiter. They want to end this. They want to go home. Your people are as tired of this as my own. You might as well give up. Even your son is done.” Jack looked down at Vaughn, still staring down the end of his sword. Vaughn eagerly nodded and said, his voice strangled, “King Tassiter! It's over!”

Tassiter sneered and looked at the rest of his people, who didn't meet his eyes. Vasquez said something Jack couldn't hear and Tassiter shook his head, looking out again. “You fight for a prize that isn't yours. But . . .” An aggravated grimace passed over his face. “You have won this duel and spared my second son. I agreed to terms for this fight. I don't go back on my word.”

“Good.” Jack pulled his sword back and stepped away, his eyes still on Tassiter. “I want Rhys back to me by the end of the day, and then we're leaving. We won't be coming to Troy– or involving ourselves in direct relations with you– ever again.”

Tassiter scowled again, ducking behind the soldiers at his side. Vasquez shouted something indignantly but it was silenced quickly with a sharp word from the king. Jack had stopped listening; he sheathed his sword and let his shield arm fall, looking down to watch Vaughn hoist himself up from the ground.

The flash of metal was fast. Jack barely had time to register it before he felt the pain explode in his face. He fell back, onto the ground. Deep chasms of shock rocked their way into his skin, over his cheeks and cresting at his forehead, rivers of blood splashing down, covering the ground beneath him.

Vaughn stood above him, eyes wide, hands trembling where they held his sword, Jack's own blood covering the edges. He backed away quickly, out of Jack's sight. The pain was too much for Jack to even consider standing again. Instead he clutched his face and growled, a harsh, pained sound.

Nisha was by his side in seconds, helping him sit up. “You bastard!” Jack snapped, trying to see through the blood. His vision was stained and hazy, a red cloud, Vaughn's image only a shadow as he ran back toward the Trojan soldiers. “The fight was over! We had a deal! You fucking– you traitors!”

“This is how you prove a point?” Nisha added, even as she was tearing cloth from her clothes and trying to push them on Jack's face, against the wounds. “Attacking when our backs are turned like cowards?!”

Jack batted Nisha's hands away and got his feet under himself, standing shakily. There was so much blood, it was like the Red Sea had opened beneath him. “Forget your deal!” he snarled. “You broke the damn rules! This war isn't over, not until _I_ say it is!”

Nisha was on him quickly again, trying to stifle the blood flow. Jack let her, holding his shield up for cover as they made their way back to the Greeks. The Trojan soldiers didn't move, some of them fretting over Vaughn and King Tassiter, some just staring at the blood that splattered the ground where Jack walked.

His vision was blurring at the edges. Jack urged Nisha to go faster, back toward the hill and the main Greek camp. He'd deal with these wounds first, and then Tassiter was going to pay. Letting the lying little snake fight dirty for him; it was despicable, the worst kind of betrayal.

The Trojans were going to pay for this with all of their lives.


	7. Chapter 7

Athena left.

With a shriek about how the war was supposed to _end_ that day and how the fighting wasn't worth risking her lover's life, she took Janey and they left on the smallest ship Jack could give them, with enough supplies to last them until they got back to Greece. They had payment waiting in Sparta and a signed letter from Jack telling the treasurer what to give them. He didn't fail on his promises, after all.

The cuts were deep. Where Janey had been slashed in shallow cuts over and over that marred her skin, Jack's cuts were rough, carving through the surface and into deeper flesh.

Vaughn's sword had torn through him, cutting his left eye so badly he wouldn't ever be able to use it again. The second slash had gone down the other side of his face, missing his eye but leaving a nasty gash. The doctor did all they could to stop the bleeding and help the skin heal quickly, but Jack had to wear bandages over his face for several weeks and the scarring made it itch. He kept catching himself reaching up to yank the bandages and having to remind himself not to.

Seeing through one eye was strange. Everything seemed off balance without quite looking wrong. He kept misjudging his movements by a few inches, bumping into the edges of tents or tripping over weapons that soldiers had spread on the ground for cleaning. People started to learn to avoid him, giving Jack a wide berth so he could stumble without hurting anyone.

A week after the fight, Jack sat around a large campfire with the soldiers, rubbing the edges of his bandages idly. Nisha and Timothy were huddled together, talking in low voices. The soldiers didn't want to look at him. Their doctor was in the tent and the weapon smiths and cooks were busy with their jobs, sharpening tools or spreading the meat on the fire respectively. Jack watched the flames lick their way over the woodpile beneath, settling into the glowing coals at the bottom that flared red at the edges with fresh embers every time another piece of wood broke off, charred and weak and spilling ashes as it tumbled to the base of the fire.

Jack had won and yet Rhys wasn't in his arms. Instead he'd lost an eye and was leaking blood and pus from his face at every hour, unable to see properly and without the strong forces he'd started the war with. Even Nisha and Timothy were starting to hint that they should go home, give up on Rhys. It was clear that no one person was worth all of this trouble, even someone sweet like Rhys.

To hell with that. The gods could face Jack's wrath before he gave up and left Rhys in Vasquez's clutches in that walled off city. He was in there somewhere, scared and alone, and Jack had to get him back. If he didn't, he might as well die on Trojan soil and never go home again.

“That's it!” he growled, standing up. Everyone jumped and looked at him. Jack could feel them staring at his bandages, wondering about the wound underneath. He ignored them and took a deep breath, glancing at everyone gathered by the fire. “You're all tired,” he said. “You all want to go home, to see your families. I know that. I . . .” He breathed out hard. “I want to see my family, too. But my family is locked away in that city, and I'm not getting him back without some help.”

Jack could feel them trembling under his gaze, not afraid but uncertain of where he was going. They'd been under his service for years, loyal people who wouldn't back down. But they were human, too. They were tired. Jack was tired.

And Rhys was still stuck inside of Troy.

“We lost Athena,” he said. “And Janey. They were strong, resilient. I know they gave the rest of you a lot of confidence. They weren't the entirety of the army, though.” His expression hardened as much as it could, wrapped and bound, and his lips set in a thin line. “You're _all_ my army. You swore your loyalty to me and Sparta. Rhys is one of us, our queen. Without him the city won't be the same. If you let Rhys stay in Troy, you let the essence of Sparta be destroyed.”

“Jack,” Timothy cautioned. “We all know this is important to you. You can't blame us for being discouraged after we were supposed to end the war.”

“For one glorious moment, we'd won,” Nisha added, running a hand over the sword she'd splayed in her lap. “Our hopes were as high as they could be, and then they came crashing back down harder than ever.” She looked up, meeting Jack's eyes. “How can you talk about more fighting when all we want is to go home?”

Jack bared his teeth, threatening. “You think I don't want to go home, too?! I would if I could but my damn wife is locked away! I can't leave him to be snatched up by that– that _pig_ and his sore excuse for a father who would rather hide behind offerings from the deities than face the consequences of his actions!”

The group went quiet, no one looking at Jack. They cast their eyes on the ground, each person hoping Jack wouldn’t call them out and release his anger on them like a boat crashing into the shore.

Jack's eyes narrowed and he spat harshly at the ground. “Do none of you care about Rhys?”

“We do,” Timothy said, and his voice was so hard that Jack looked up again, seeing the steel in his eyes that turned to molten metal with the reflection from the fire. “We all love him. He was our queen. But he's been kidnapped, Jack. We're not winning. We weren't winning when we had the best warriors on our side. I think it's time we face the facts and start preparing to go back to Greece.”

“You– you don't–” Jack hissed and turned sharply, ankle twisting with the motion. He ignored the throb in it, stalking away from the fire and back to his tent. He closed his eyes– his eye, his only working eye, and all he could see was Timothy's face, hard set and determined to make Jack see that this was a fruitless endeavor.

He'd said Rhys _was_ their queen. As if he'd passed away, as if nothing could save him. Jack crashed into his tent and halted, seething, breaths coming out so hard he thought he saw steam. But that could have been his eye, too. He couldn't even trust his own vision anymore.

“No,” he said, quiet. “No, this can't be it. I was so close, I'd won. Rhys was . . .” He sucked in a harsh breath, the feeling like knives stabbing down his throat. Jack had fought in countless wars, territory skirmishes and fights for resources, petty wars that meant nothing in the long run, protecting his city. He'd been in greater wars, too, battles that declared the beginning or end of a city state, wars that risked everything the army had for the sake of their leader.

Five years. Almost six, now. Come spring, Jack would see another year away from home, another year without Rhys. It was the longest, most draining battle of his life, and all he wanted to do right now was sleep.

He couldn't afford it, though. Jack's nostrils flared and he stood tall, forcing himself to breathe. His body wanted to shake, his heart clawing at his ribs, like it could crawl back to Rhys if it tried hard enough. Jack raised his fist and hit himself square in the chest, once, to banish the feeling. It stayed, but fluttered at the edges instead of pulling at him desperately, and Jack let the pain of his own punch swallow the rest of it.

He'd never given up before and he wasn't going to give up now. Even if the entire army abandoned him.

 

* * *

 

Rhys paced in the front entrance of the palace, nerves frayed and hand clenching at his robes. His blood ran like ice in his veins at the thought of either outcome of the fight; either he lost his best friend or he lost his lover. He clenched his teeth and paced faster. His feet would burn through his shoes at this rate.

The door opened and Rhys skidded to a stop so hard his shoes squeaked on the floor. He whirled around, heart pounding, watching the men that trailed into the room. Tassiter was among them, and beside him, Vasquez . . . and Vaughn.

Rhys' shoulders slumped, disappointment crashing hard with relief. Vaughn was alive.

Tassiter raised a hand. “Vasquez, go fetch the treasurer. There's work to be done.”

“Why do I have to do it?” Vasquez snarled. Tassiter glared and he relented, slinking off with his tail between his legs.

Rhys watched him go and looked at Tassiter. “Troy won the battle, then? The war is over?”

“No,” Tassiter snapped, glaring at Vaughn with fire in his eyes. Vaughn flinched, ducking his head. He was covered in blood and bruises, bandages wrapped hastily over his wounds, but the most hurt was in his eyes, shaking, unable to settle on his father or Rhys. Tassiter huffed and said, “We did not win, and I will let _him_ explain why. Vaughn, take Rhys back to his room. There's too much to be done and we don't need him getting in the way.”

Rhys frowned and opened his mouth to protest but Vaughn said, “Yes, sire,” and brought a hand to Rhys' shoulder, urging him to turn and walk away. “Not now,” he whispered, moving them quickly down the hall. “I'll explain everything, I promise.”

Raising a brow, Rhys let himself be led to the quarters, heart pounding fast in his ribcage. Troy hadn't won the duel. If they hadn't won . . .

But why was Vaughn still alive?

The questions buzzed around his head like bees in the spring. Rhys kept his lips clamped shut as Vaughn pushed him into his room and locked the door behind them, tossing his sword aside and slumping until he hit the floor, sighing as he let his head fall back against the hardwood with a sharp knock.

“Vaughn?” Rhys asked tentatively, sitting on the bed. “If Troy didn't win then why am I still here? I thought– I thought Jack's soldier would have slaughtered you.”

Vaughn opened his eyes slowly and slid them over Rhys, heaving out another sigh. “Jack fought me. The Greeks won,” he said, staring up at the ceiling. Rhys' heart clenched but Vaughn went on. “He was vicious, ready to do anything to get you back. I spoke to him a little at the start of the battle, told him to do whatever was necessary to get you back.” He looked down again to meet Rhys' eyes. “I told him not to hesitate to kill me if it would bring you back home.”

Rhys swallowed thickly, a lump stuck in his throat. His fingers curled in the sheets, yanking the fabric hard. “You lost?” he said, tentatively.

Vaughn nodded, putting a hand over his knee, dragging his nails down the skin. “It was exhausting but he eventually beat me. I didn't want to lose, exactly, not with Tassiter threatening to put Vasquez on the throne, but I know how miserable you are here. I wanted you to go home. I didn't fight very hard when he pinned me and I expected him to end it there.” He dropped his head with a hollow laugh. “I guess whatever I said convinced him I was a friend of yours or something. He spared me, told Tassiter to bring you to him as soon as possible so he and the Greeks could leave.”

Rhys' eyes went wide and he leaned close, breathing fast. “He spared you?! So– so I'm going home? And you're alive, you get to stay here?!”

He waited with baited breath, but the longer Vaughn didn't answer, refusing to look at him, the more Rhys' heart sunk like lead in his chest.

“The duel was declared invalid,” Vaughn said quietly.

“W-What?” Rhys swallowed, leaning so far that he almost fell off the bed. “Why? Because he didn't kill you? Vaughn, I . . .”

Vaughn sat up, pushing himself up until he was standing again. Looking down at Rhys, he clenched his fists, breathing out slowly. His entire body was stiff, unsure, like his entire foundation had been broken down, and when he met Rhys' eyes his own were wet. “I'm sorry,” he said faintly. “When Jack spared me he moved to go back to his people, to go back to camp and wait for us to give you back, and I . . . I got up and used my sword to slash him in the face.”

Rhys' face went pale. He could feel the blood leave him, lips parting, breathing dropping until he was barely taking in air. His hand wobbled and he tried to grab the sheets again, to find something to steady him, but he couldn't get a good grip and instead he slumped over, the words hitting him over and over. “You . . . attacked him. After the fight was over.”

“He's not dead!” Vaughn said quickly. “The wounds, they were just on the surface, I– I may have hurt one of his eyes, b-but Rhys, please, listen to me!” He dropped to his knees, both hands on Rhys' thighs, squeezing tight, imploring him. “Rhys, I didn't do it on purpose, I swear! I was ready to give up and let you go back home! But after I hurt him. . . Jack said we'd cheated, and declared the duel null and void. The war is still going on. The fight didn't solve anything.”

“Why would you . . .” Rhys closed his eyes, tearing leaking out, staining his cheeks. “Why would you attack him? After he _spared_ you. Vaughn, he didn't have to do that, Jack must be so furious at every one of you, I'm surprised he even cared enough to–” He was babbling and his breath hitched, sticking hot and uncomfortable in his throat.

Vaughn tried to rub his hands over Rhys' thighs to comfort him but Rhys growled and smacked them away, standing up. “Why would you wreck everything?!” he snapped. “It was perfect! You lost, he spared you, I could have gone _home_! What the fuck, Vaughn?!”

“I didn't do it on purpose!” Vaughn said, voice strained with desperation.

“So someone just grabbed your hands with the sword in them and _made_ you slash Jack's face?! Oh, gods, he might bleed out, he might be dead . . .” Rhys put a hand over his face, smudging the tears and trapping the heat that had rushed to his cheeks, his entire face burning with frustration. A headache was edging its way into his mind, pounding behind his forehead. It only made the tears worse.

“He's not dead,” Vaughn said, panicked, standing up with both hands held out toward Rhys. “I'm pretty sure the wounds weren't that deep, he was shouting at us when they took him off the battlefield.”

“And that makes this _better_? Why would you ruin it all?!”

“I _didn't_!” Vaughn snapped, so loud it made Rhys freeze. Vaughn was trembling, teeth clenched, his face so red he looked ready to burst. He breathed out a few times, still shaking but slowly gaining control, and he forced himself to look at Rhys again. When he spoke, it was careful, measured. “I was trying to stand up and go back to the Trojans,” he said. “But when I got up . . . it was like I lost control over my body. I grabbed my sword and thrust it at Jack before I could even register what was happening. It was like . . . it was like someone else took control of me, _made_ me do it.”

Rhys' brow furrowed, eyes flicking over Vaughn's body, searching for some sign of a lie, but all he saw was anger and frustration. He'd seen Jack call out liars enough to have a good sense for it but Vaughn was desperate, upset, tears welling up to follow Rhys' own. If he were lying, he was damn good at it, and Rhys hadn't known Vaughn to lie to him in the five years he'd been stuck at Troy.

“Okay,” he said quietly, sniffling a few times and wiping at the tears that kept coming. “Okay,” he repeated. “Say that I believe you. That I believe someone else made you hurt Jack after the fight ended. _Who_ would do that? How, why? It doesn't make any sense, Vaughn.”

“I know.” Vaughn breathed in deeply, chest shaking. “It's . . . there's only one real explanation, Rhys.” His eyes flicked to the floor and back up, biting his lip. “I think maybe one of the deities forced me to do it.”

Rhys looked up at him slowly, brows knit together. “You're blaming the deities for this?” he said quietly. “For ruining my chance to go home?”

“I didn't do it on purpose!” Vaughn said desperately. “And no one else was on the battlefield with us! I– I hurt him, it was me, but it was like I couldn't control what I did. I just saw myself hurting him and then suddenly I could move myself again. If– if a deity took control they could have forced me to hurt him without ever being seen.”

“You're shoving your actions onto the gods?!” Rhys snapped, turning away with a low growl. “I can't believe you. I was going to listen but if you're not even taking responsibility . . .”

“Rhys!” Vaughn pleaded, trying to move close. Rhys jerked and stepped away quickly, backing into the wall. It hit him hard, solid stone that was cold against his shoulder blades and made him shiver.

His entire body was trembling. Rhys felt like he might vibrate out of his skin and melt into the floor with only the heavy ache of losing Jack, losing his home. Vaughn wouldn't even admit what he'd done, his hands spread out to try and soothe him. “Don't touch me,” Rhys growled, eyes narrowed. “I don't want anything to do with you, you – you damn snake!”

“The only snake here is the one that's been planted between you.”

They both froze. The voice that had spoken was not either of theirs, soft and lilting. Rhys looked up, expecting someone at the door, but it was still closed, and no one else was in the room. He swallowed and said, “Who's there?”

“With any luck, a friend of yours.”

The voice drifted all around them, seeming to come from everywhere. Vaughn's eyes darted around the room and he looked to the windows but the curtains hadn't been disturbed, and they were too high for someone to have climbed their way to the room.

“Show yourself!” Vaughn said. His voice shook and he moved to grab his sword from where he'd thrown it on the floor.

“I wouldn't do that.” The voice was heavier now, and it came from behind them. Vaughn and Rhys startled, turning, and saw a tall, dark skinned woman standing in front of them, hands on her hips, eyeing them with an extremely unimpressed look. “That took longer than expected,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Most people guess 'deity' as soon as they hear me.”

“How'd you get in?” Vaughn asked, though he didn't reach for his sword again. “Do you realize you've snuck into the room of the prince of Troy?”

“ _Second_ prince of Troy,” the woman said dryly, “and considering I'm the queen of the gods, I think I outrank you quite a bit.” She traced her eyes over both of them, lips tipping up as a wave of shock passed over their faces. “I _thought_ that would catch your attention.”

“Queen of the gods?” Rhys said, his voice squeaking. “H-How? Why? What are you even doing here?”

The woman put a hand on her chin, tapping her cheek thoughtfully. “You may call me Sasha. I'm here to confirm what Vaughn said, Rhys. He did indeed lose control of himself to a deity.”

Rhys jerked at hearing his name from a stranger's mouth, and he and Vaughn exchanged a look. The door hadn't opened and it was nigh impossible to get into Vaughn's room via the window. There wasn't any explanation for the woman's sudden appearance.

“I'm not sure how well I can believe you just based on what you say,” Vaughn said slowly. “I mean no offense, Sasha, but even with the circumstances it'd be a little hard to take it at face value.”

Sasha rolled her eyes and held a hand out. “Fair enough, but would it help if I showed you this?”

At first nothing seemed to happen. As they watched her empty hand, Rhys could feel something climbing up his throat. It was slow, crawling upwards, sticking in his throat like honey dripping through it in reverse, clogging the back of his mouth and making his tongue feel heavy. He tried to breathe in but his jaw was locked tight, fingers suddenly aching sharply, like someone had stabbed his joints with a knife. He drew his shoulders up, rocking through the shock of pain.

His eyes stayed on Sasha's hand, though, and as the pain grew, something shimmered over her fingers. The air shifted and got heavier, and in an instant it had changed. Her hand was no longer empty.

In it she held a ripe pomegranate, dark and ready to burst. Rhys' eyebrows lifted and the pain snapped, breaking like a cord down his spine. He gasped, grateful to suddenly be able to do so again. “What . . .”

“How did you do that?” Vaughn said, voice strained, and Rhys looked over to see a light sweat had broken out over his brow.

Sasha held the pomegranate close, smirking. “I borrowed some energy from you both to produce this. I _am_ queen of the gods, and I need you both to listen to me.” Her smirk faded, and her hands grew tight around the fruit, nails threatening to bite into it. “As I said. Vaughn, you _did_ lose control of your body. One of the other deities took over your actions in order to force you to betray Jack's victory and continue the war.”

As she spoke her expression twisted into anger, lips lifting in a sneer. Rhys' heart beat like a frightened bird in his chest, facing down the apparent queen of deities whose rage was quickly growing, digging her nails hard into the shell of the pomegranate.

“S-So,” Vaughn managed, edging closer to Rhys, “why did you come here? The deities do stuff to humans all the time. Why do we deserve to know about it?” He'd gone pale, face white like a sheet, but his voice was more measured than before, and he was standing tall, shoulders squared. Acting like the prince he was.

That snapped Sasha out of it. She blinked and sighed, covering the fruit with her fingers. When she opened her hands again it was gone, vanished into nothing. “I came here to tell you because I don't care for what the goddess did,” she said, meeting their eyes. “The goddess of love, Yvette, controlled Vaughn so that the war wouldn't end. She's invested in Troy's victory.”

“The goddess of love . . .” Rhys' mouth fell open and he balked. “You mean the goddess that Tassiter said brought me here in the first place?!”

Sasha nodded solemnly. “The very same. It's a long story, but suffice to say there was fighting between Yvette, myself, and the goddess of wisdom. We bickered until August himself told us to settle it, and we chose an impartial human. Or rather,” she frowned again, “someone who was supposed to be impartial. Vasquez, as it turns out, is easily swayed, and Yvette cheated her way into a victory. Now that the war between Troy and Greece is happening, she wants Troy to win so she can claim yet another victory.”

“So this goddess, Yvette, is the reason Rhys is here?” Vaughn asked tentatively. “Vasquez was telling the truth?”

“Yes.” Sasha shook her head, the hopelessness of the past weighing heavily on her. “As much as I wish someone like Vasquez didn't have a goddess' favor, Yvette is determined to see that he and Troy are proven the victors. When Vaughn won the duel her integrity was threatened and she forced him to attack Jack.”

“See?!” Vaughn said. Rhys stared, leaning back, and he blushed. “I– I mean, I was right. I didn't hurt Jack on purpose.” His expression softened. “I would never do something like that to you, Rhys. I wanted you to go home, so _so_ badly.”

Rhys swallowed and nodded. “I didn't want to think you'd done it either. And now I suppose I have the word of a goddess to confirm it.” He looked up at Sasha, taking in her form. It was obviously a disguise; everyone knew that the true visages of the gods were too bright and powerful for mortals to even consider looking at lest they burn to ashes on the spot, but her disguise was beautiful in itself, standing tall with dark skin, thick hair pulled into a tie at the nape of her neck. She watched him, lips pursed with exasperation, eyes flicking between him and Vaughn.

“This goddess,” he said slowly. “Yvette. Does she raise petty disagreements between the deities very often?”

“She usually keeps her methods to mortals, although being the goddess of love requires some amount of mischief. But this is the first human war she's been so invested in. That's why I have to stop her before it's too late.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “So many mortal years lost for this silly argument.”

A silly argument. He'd been stuck in Troy for years– _years–_ because of some fight between the deities. “Yvette gave Vasquez help to kidnap me, for– for what, a prize?”

“Something like that,” Sasha said, her tone low and sympathetic.

“That's the reason I'm here?!” Rhys ran his hand through his hair, catching some of the strands and pulling tight. “The deities had a fight and I was, what? Some kind of consolation prize? Vasquez's medal for picking the goddess who _happens_ to rule over love? And what about Jack? She must have known I was married! She's a goddess!”

Sasha made a noise in the back of her throat, moving closer to pat Rhys soothingly. He flinched, wary of the touch of a goddess, but her hand was warm and she squeezed his shoulder tight. Where she touched, it was like a fire licking away his wounds, washing his anger and replacing it with a low, buzzing warmth. “Rhys,” she said quietly. “I do apologize deeply for you being caught in this matter. I know it wasn't your choice. And I know you've been away from your home for many mortal years.”

“Six, now,” Vaughn said, and jolted when Rhys glared. “Sorry,” he muttered, ducking his head.

“Can you–” Rhys looked at Sasha. Her eyes were big and round, like saucers of deep wine. “Can you take me home? You know this is wrong.”

“I . . . I could,” Sasha admitted. She stepped away, taking her warm touch with her. Rhys' heart sunk at her expression, full of regret and embarrassment. “If I did, though, my husband wouldn't be happy with me, and Yvette would consider it the breaking of a contract. Whether or not her deal with Vasquez was fair to you, it was a deal all the same, and it's against our nature to break such a deal.” She met Rhys' eyes, her own asking for forgiveness. “You must solve this war yourselves. My sister and I are helping as much as we are allowed, but there is only so much we can do.”

“Sister?” Rhys asked, but Sasha wasn't standing on the floor anymore. A mist had appeared under her feet and Rhys was getting the tingling feeling under his skin again. Sasha wasn't looking at him and he tried to move closer, reaching out, but a blink later she was gone with only a faint trace of wind that ruffled the curtains.

Vaughn stared at where she'd been standing, eyes wide. “That was . . .” He shook his head, clearing it, and looked at Rhys. “We _did_ just see a goddess, didn't we?”

Rhys flexed his fingers, mouth suddenly dry as a desert. “Yeah,” he said thickly. “Yeah, we just saw a goddess.” A goddess who had told him in so many words that Rhys had been nothing more than a prize for a selfish man and that a goddess was conspiring to keep him trapped in Troy for the rest of his life, all for the sake of pride.

The powers that controlled the world itself were fighting with everything they had to keep him away from home, away from Jack.

“This is . . .” He hiccuped, eyes already hot with oncoming tears. Rhys bit his lip and sat down on Vaughn's bed, wiping at his face. “The goddess of love forced me to be here,” he said, breath hitching. “I thought– Jack always said . . . he always said we must have been blessed by her, to have each other and be able to spend our lives together.” He rubbed at the corners of his eyes, already feeling his nose clog up, breathing getting harder as the tears started to flow. It wasn't the first time he'd dissolved into a sobbing mess in Vaughn's room, and now it most definitely wouldn't be the last.

Vaughn sat next to him, rubbing a hand down his back. Rhys struggled to breathe in, focusing on the fingers running down his spine. It wasn't the liquid fire that had been Sasha's touch, but it helped, and he breathed slower, his arm wrapped around his middle.

“We have to end this war,” Vaughn said, pulling Rhys in to lean against his side. “This has been going on for far too long.”

“What would we even do?” Rhys said, burying his face into Vaughn's side, inhaling his scent. It was light, and smelled vaguely like the soap people in the palace used. “Jack already agreed to a duel and it went sour. I know Jack; he won't agree to another duel as long as he lives, the stubborn asshole.”

“It's smart,” Vaughn admitted. “If I were him and the enemy had broken the rules of a duel, I wouldn't want to battle again either.”

“How is the morale of the Trojans?” Rhys asked, sitting up to look at Vaughn properly. “Tassiter won't let me sit in on the war room meetings.”

Vaughn sighed and looked out the windows across the room. They could see the city from here, the palace looming over it on its plateau like a king on the throne. “Troy is winning right now,” he said, “but at great costs. We've lost a lot of soldiers over the course of the war and people are starting to get tired of all the constant fighting. But they're _more_ scared of Tassiter, and as long as he's ordering us to fight, we'll probably keep going.”

“So this duel was Greece's big shot,” Rhys said, settling down against Vaughn again, tucking his arm into his side. “They're not doing well and they could have ended everything in one go.”

“It doesn't look great,” Vaughn admitted. “The swiftest end to the war would be to declare peace, but Tassiter won't do that, and the soldiers won't go against him. They're all too scared of what Tassiter could do to them or their families.”

Rhys pursed his lips and groaned. Jack might have ruled with an iron fist but at the very least he didn't attack his own people unless an individual particularly deserved it. “We need to tip it in the favor of the Greeks,” he said. “If we can get the upper hand, Tassiter might finally see how pointless this all is and declare peace to save his own hide.”

Vaughn snickered and rubbed his hand over Rhys' side affectionately. “I should probably defend my father but that description fits him perfectly well. He won't give up until he thinks he's losing.”

“And Jack is too prideful to try and declare peace, especially if I'm still stuck in here.” Rhys brought both his feet up and let himself splay over Vaughn's lap, face pressed into his thigh. There was still blood on his clothes from the duel but it had dried and Rhys couldn't bring himself to care. He'd hugged and even had sex with Jack plenty of times after he came home fresh from a battle. Right now he needed someone else’s comforting touch.

“We have the home turf,” Vaughn said, humming thoughtfully and bringing his hand up to pet through Rhys' hair. “Greece has powerful soldiers but that isn't much use when we have numbers and an army we can pick the best from any time we choose.”

“Is there anything we can do for the Greeks?” Rhys asked with a sigh. “Secrets about battling Trojans, hidden passages, more effective weapons?” He turned on his back and looked up at Vaughn. “There must be something we can use to help them fight Troy and gain enough of an upper hand to crumble Tassiter's confidence.”

Vaughn looked down, brow furrowed in concentration. “I don't know how battling us would be any different than battling another army. I've actually heard scarier things about the Spartans and their military lifestyle. I'm kind of shocked we're holding our own.”

Rhys shrugged, giving him a small smile. “I think it's more than just Spartans out there, and we can't all have the amazing upbringing that my people did. The Spartans are probably why we haven't lost yet despite all the odds against us.”

“I'm sure,” Vaughn said, echoing Rhys' smile with a small laugh.

“But we're still losing.” Rhys traced some of the tiles in the ceiling with his eyes, following the pattern of curves and round shapes carved into the stone. “If there was something we could do, if we could get the upper hand for a little while, we'd be golden.”

Vaughn hummed thoughtfully, petting Rhys' hair. “Troy's a fortress,” he said. “Tassiter built it to keep as many people out as possible, so only he could control who went in and out. The only place that isn't controlled by tons of guards is–” He stopped and swallowed, throat suddenly tight.

Rhys looked up at him, brow raised. “The only place not controlled by guards?”

“Oh, uh, well.” Vaughn ducked his head, biting his lip. His hand tensed in Rhys' hair. “There's one place,” he said, quietly. “One area that King Tassiter doesn't force the guards to watch because if they did, it would be easier to find.”

Rhys frowned and sat up, grunting as he flipped awkwardly with his single hand to push himself up. “What are you talking about, Vaughn?” he asked, sitting up properly. “Is there somewhere in Troy that the king doesn't keep an eye on?”

Vaughn groaned and leaned back, eyes sliding shut. “He ordered me not to tell anyone,” he said, voice tense. “That probably wouldn't have stopped me from telling you, honestly, but with the duel and everything else my mind was a little preoccupied.”

“Vaughn, spit it out.”

“Okay, okay! Listen.” Vaughn turned to look at Rhys, reaching out with one hand to hold his. “King Tassiter has been really worried about this war, more worried than he's letting on with his tough facade. He _doesn't_ want to give you up and risk angering the goddess that blessed Vasquez, but he knows we can't keep fighting forever. Even if we have the forces, having the Greeks camped out all around the city has limited our trade. Our resources are starting to take a serious hit. He knew that if worst came to worst, he needed an escape plan.”

“An escape plan,” Rhys repeated, brow furrowed. “What kind of plan?”

“Tunnels,” Vaughn said, and paused, watching Rhys' reaction. When there were no shouts or looks of shock, he continued, “Tassiter started the project a few years ago. Even _I_ didn't know about it, it's been a secret. They weren't finished until a couple months ago. King Tassiter told me that if the Greeks tried to attack during the duel, that we should evacuate. He had guards ready to take you out of the palace and everything.”

“He . . .” Rhys blinked, letting the information sink in. “He built secret tunnels out of the city so he could take me and leave?”

“He wants to protect the royal family,” Vaughn said, shaking his head. “He'd take you, me, Vasquez, some of the cousins that are staying here, and that's probably it. I don't think he'd care much about whether the citizens got out, he just wants himself and his 'royal blood' to survive.”

“That's despicable,” Rhys said, a frown twisting his lips unpleasantly. “These secret tunnels lead outside? Past the wall?”

“Yes, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.” Vaughn swallowed and looked away, hand tight over Rhys'. “If I thought I could get away with it I would have taken you out of here immediately–”

“Whoa, whoa!” Rhys leaned in, taking his hand from Vaughn's to grab his shoulder. “I'm not mad, Vaughn.” He waited until Vaughn met his eyes, unsure, and Rhys patted his cheek gently, sighing. “You cut my husband in the face, but . . . a goddess made you do it, so I can't be _that_ mad. I'm not _happy,_ but if Yvette is behind it I can't be furious. And given how controlling your father is, I don't blame you for being cautious with these tunnels either.” He sat back, thinking. “So they definitely lead outside the city?”

“He said they go to the shoreline,” Vaughn said, looking out the window. They couldn't see the ocean from where they were but it was there, just beyond the hills, so close they could have run there in less than a day. “There are boats waiting there, supposedly. It would be easy for us to get out and leave the second trouble shows up.”

“And they're not guarded,” Rhys said.

“Only once during the night. Someone stops down to check for signs of trespassers, but they're secret so no one should know about them besides Tassiter and me. Even Vasquez hasn't been told.”

“So anyone could leave the city,” Rhys said slowly.

Vaughn looked at him, watching his expression, and realization dawned on him. “Rhys,” he said sternly. “We can't.”

“Why not?” Rhys stood, spreading his arm out wide. “We sneak out at night and go out the tunnels, sail around the shore to where the Greeks are, find Jack, let me go home, you go back to the city! It's perfect, no one will know!”

“Tassiter will know!” Vaughn said. “No one but me and the people who built those tunnels know about them yet. And he'll know it was me, he knows how close we are. Besides . . .” Vaughn reached up, touching a hand to his own face, tracing his fingers down slowly. “The last time I tried to get you out of here, the goddess of love took control of me and made me hurt your husband. If I try to take you out of the city she might see it and use me again.” His brow furrowed, eyes going wide. “Rhys, she might make me _kill_ you.”

“She wouldn't,” Rhys said automatically.

“The gods are spiteful,” Vaughn said. “There's plenty of stories. Even if she didn't kill you, she could make me hurt you, force me to bring you back and dump you right in front of Vasquez. I don't want to risk it, Rhys. The gods know everything that goes on with us.”

“Then there's no hope.” Rhys' shoulders slumped and he bowed his head, glaring at the floor. “We can't use the tunnels and Yvette will rig every fight in her favor.”

“Sasha said she and her sister are fighting it, but, yeah. I'm not sure I want to be too optimistic about this.”

“Then what _can_ we do?!” Rhys groaned, dragging his hand over his face. “We can't flee, we can't win. Am I going to be stuck here forever? Is this war never going to end?”

“It'll end,” Vaughn said, firm. He stood, moving close to Rhys, smaller but strong enough that when he leaned in Rhys easily took to invitation, leaning on him with his hand resting on Vaughn's shoulder. “Like I said, Troy is slowly losing supplies because the Greeks are cutting us off bit by bit. If they can last, they can drain us.”

“We've got to be running low, too,” Rhys murmured. “Neither of us can go forever. We need a way to _win_ , and do it so it's not obvious that we're winning until it's too late. If Yvette were watching everything we were doing she would have helped Troy slaughter us from the start, but I think she'll notice if anything else blatant like the duel is going on.”

“Greece needs to win fair and square,” Vaughn said, wrapping his arms around Rhys and hugging him tight. He moved back to look at him, and for a moment they stared at one another, neither sure what they could do or where they could go.

“Or,” Rhys said, after a long moment, “they need to win in a way that _looks_ fair.”

Vaughn frowned, lips pursed tight. “What do you mean?”

Rhys moved back, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “Yvette will know if we have one big obvious battle. But if she thinks Troy isn't in danger of losing, she won't do anything. At least, I don't think so. It doesn't seem like she's done anything _before_ the duel. Sasha said she was protecting her pride.” He inhaled deep, considering. “If we . . . if we can help Greece win without making it look like we're going to win until the last minute, maybe we could pull something off. It'd be better than doing nothing, anyway.”

“What do you want to do, then?” Vaughn sat down on his bed, watching Rhys as he started pacing back and forth. “The goddess Yvette obviously favors Troy. It seems like Sasha wants to help us but I'm not sure how far that goes. The Greeks have probably tried every trick in the book, anyway. They tried taking down our gates once and that failed miserably, and our walls are too thick and high to break down or scale.”

“Then . . .” Rhys chewed on his lip, fingers flexing like they wished they had something to grab. “Then we can take away Yvette's reason to favor Troy.”

“What?” Vaughn's brow furrowed. “Rhys, you can't just take away a god's favor for a certain place. We have statues, temples, and there's plenty dedicated to the goddess of love, especially since _you_ came along. Tassiter set out to build _more_ just to be sure the goddess knew we appreciated her gift.”

“There _are_ temples and statues,” Rhys admitted, and stopped, looking out the window, down the plateau at where the city of Troy rested between the hills. “But what if there weren't as many?”

“We already have a ton, I don't see how–” Vaughn cut off and his mouth dropped open, eyes wide on Rhys. “No way,” he said, standing quickly. “Rhys, you can't be suggesting what I think–”

“We take down the statues,” Rhys said simply. “We move the altars, get rid of the offerings. We tell Yvette exactly how appreciated she is here by moving everything, getting rid of it. She can't favor a city that has no temples or dedications to her.”

“Rhys, you're crazy! Besides, she might know it was us!”

“She might know it was _you_ ,” Rhys said, speaking faster, grinning as his words gained traction. “A prince of Troy, supposedly dedicated to the gods and Yvette especially, taking down all the statues and temple offerings. It's awful and she'll be furious. She'll hate Troy more than any other city.”

“This is ridiculous,” Vaughn moaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “All right, fine, say that this works.” He peeked up from between his fingers to glare at Rhys. “Then what? We ruin Troy's reputation with Yvette, what comes after that?”

“We need something to help the Greeks. They're stuck outside and they can only fight as much as Troy sends after them. Even with the resource issues, we can’t stay camped out forever.”

“You want them inside,” Vaughn said, hands dropping.

“I want them to have a strategic advantage,” Rhys clarified, “so, yes. Absolutely, if we can get them inside the city we'll be able to win this entire thing.”

“We can't use the tunnels,” Vaughn said immediately. “They're only big enough for a few people at a time, if we try to get a whole army through Tassiter is going to notice before you have enough men to fight anyone.”

Rhys growled and started pacing again, head bowed, thinking. His steps were quick, sure, ready to burn a hole through the floor. Vaughn put a hand to his chin and tried to think of something. Troy was a fortress, surrounded by walls and guards. Tassiter had always been paranoid about protecting it. “No one can get in without people on the inside working with them,” Vaughn said.

Rhys put a hand to his head, grabbing at his hair and gritting his teeth. “How would we ever . . . I have no idea how to do this! I'm not a strategist!” he growled. “I need . . . I need Jack. He was the one who planned out all the battles and stuff, I just listened and told him when there were obvious flaws.”

“I'm not either,” Vaughn admitted, rubbing a hand over his neck. “And anyone in Troy is probably going to trust Tassiter more than us.”

“But we're not going to be able to do this alone.” Rhys went to the window, pulling the curtains back to get a better view. “The Greeks _have_ to know about our plan or else it could all go wrong. Is there any way to send them a message?”

Vaughn paused, joining Rhys at the window. The night air was cool, blowing in a gentle breeze around them. They'd already been locked away for hours and there was no doubt Tassiter would be ready to scream at Vaughn when he finally came out, blaming him for the continued war and the suffering of the Trojan people.

“We have messengers,” he said. “We'd need someone trustworthy, someone who wouldn't rat us out to Tassiter the minute they got back to the palace.”

“Does anyone come to mind?”

Vaughn pursed his lips. “There's one person. But she's a bit of a firecracker, so we need to be careful.”

Rhys raised his hand and clapped Vaughn on the shoulder. “It's better than nothing.”


	8. Chapter 8

 

Sasha touched down on the marble floors of Olympus and sagged, the weight of the world sinking deep into her shoulders. Meetings with humans never went well. She hadn't been able to bear the look of devastation tearing up Rhys' face when she'd told him she couldn't help, that sabotaging the loyalty of Yvette's devoted Trojan followers would cause too much ruckus among the deities and the best she could do was send her blessing. 

It was selfish, she knew. She could easily take Rhys back to his lover and end the war. But if she did that, both August and Yvette would know and her fate for treachery would have to be decided. 

She'd only been waiting a few minutes when Fiona arrived, rushing to her with wide eyes. "I saw you leave! You didn't . . ." Fiona stopped at the harsh look Sasha gave her. "You didn't end the war, did you?" she finished quietly. "I was watching the Greeks and Trojans. No one's moved."

Sasha shook her head and sighed, putting a hand on one of the heavy white columns to steady herself. "No, I didn't. I had to tell Rhys and his companion the truth. Someone needs to know what Yvette did."

"What Yvette . . ." Fiona's brow furrowed. "Did you tell them that  _Yvette_ was the one who ruined the duel?!"

"Of course I did! Because she did!" Sasha glared over the edge of the marble flooring at the world below, where clouds twisting and the ocean rose and fell in heavy tides. "Who else would have? Vaughn and Jack both wanted Vaughn to lose. Jack even spared his life!" 

"I'm all for blaming Yvette for what she definitely did," Fiona said, crossing her arms. "But there was nothing to see at that duel."

Sasha rolled her eyes and started walking down one of the long corridors, towards her chambers. "No one but Yvette would have changed Vaughn's will and wrecked the duel."

"We can't prove that. She  _had_ the apple. Vasquez couldn't have taken Rhys without divine help. But the duel?" Fiona shook her head, following Sasha with swift steps. "That was a mortal fight. All we know is what we see, and I saw Vaughn get up after being pinned and slash that king's face to pieces. There was blood, there was suffering. Nothing outside the usual for mortal battles."

"He wouldn't have done that on his own," Sasha insisted. She turned a corner and reached out, parting the sheer curtains surrounding her chamber without touching them and stepping inside. Fiona stopped at the edge, frowning at her through them. "Vaughn has been nothing but loyal to Rhys," Sasha said, glaring right back. "We can't do anything obvious, not without August catching us, but the least we can do is bless their efforts and tell them the truth about what's really going on. Maybe they'll be able to help themselves now that they know Yvette is behind everything."

"She's behind a lot," Fiona admitted, turning away from the curtains. "We can't know it was her for sure, Sasha. I hope you know what you're doing, telling mortals your own assumptions. If you're wrong, we're all going to be in trouble." She walked away, her dark form fading from sight. Sasha stared through the curtains for a long moment and sat down on her bed, covering her eyes with her hand. It  _was_ Yvette's fault. No one else would have ruined the duel.

She was Queen of the Gods. She knew how her people behaved. 

 

* * *

 

Jack raised a finger to prod at his wounds again, hissing at the pain that shot through his skin, radiating down his neck. He'd only recently been able to take the bandages off; it looked worse than it was, a deep cavern that wrecked his skin on the surface and carved through his eye. The scarring was deep and made it hard to move his face in any kind of expression while it was still healing. Even talking was difficult and Jack had grudgingly deferred to letting Timothy speak for him a majority of the time.

He looked at his left eye again. The wound had cut up his eyelid and the eye itself was sliced across the surface. The scabs had sealed his lids shut for the time being; that was for the best if he couldn't see either way. It freaked his soldiers out less, too, though the idea that they'd be squeamish at anything made Jack snort. They were Spartan, they'd seen worse.

His tent flap opened and Nisha poked her head inside. “Jack?” she asked, glancing around until she spotted him poking at his face with the handheld mirror. “Jack, there's someone here. I think you come meet them.”

“Someone here?” Jack asked, slipping the headband back over his eye. It itched, and he didn't like wearing it, but it helped his healing eyelids if he wasn't tempted to open his eye every minute.

“A young girl,” Nisha said, stepping away as Jack left the tent. “She looks Trojan, but . . . not.”

“What? What in the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jack sneered. “Why is a little girl here?”

“She's a messenger, actually.” Nisha shrugged and ran a hand through her hair. “Listen, it's better if you just meet with her, all right?”

Jack raised a brow, skeptical. He'd met plenty of powerful women and had plenty in his army, but a little girl? They should be far away from war, like any other kid.

Nisha led him to the opposite end of camp, where it faced the city that loomed beyond the valley below. There was a crowd of people, Roland and Lilith among them, bustling around a small body. Jack's eye narrowed and he moved faster, shoving himself between people. “All right, all right, what's going on here? Who wanted to see me?”

“I did, sir.”

The voice was high, lilting, and Jack finally looked down to see who had come into the middle of his camp to deliver a message.

She was shorter than him but not as small or young as he'd thought she would be. Bright, fiery red hair was tied into a small ponytail at the nape of her neck, and she wore thick clothes, like his soldiers would wear in training sessions in lieu of armor. Her face was smudged with dirt and in her hands she clasped a piece of paper like it was her written will. “King Jack of the Spartans, right?” she asked, grinning.

“Yes,” Jack said slowly. “And you are?”

“Gaige, of the Trojans. But I don't stand with them,” she added quickly, to soothe Jack's obvious flare of anger. “I'm actually a messenger for Vaughn, the soldier you fought in the duel.”

His rage boiled again like a surging ocean wave. “You mean that little snake who jumped up after he was subdued and slashed me in the face?”

Gaige grinned. “Yeah, him! He wanted me to deliver this.” She held the message out, the paper loose in her fingers. “He told me to tell you that it's important and that Rhys wants you to read it.”

Jack leaned back, lips twisting in an unpleasant scowl. That little _sneak_ had cut him up and betrayed the terms of their duel. Trusting anything he said would be like walking into a bear trap.

But Gaige had mentioned Rhys. Whatever the message was, Vaughn clearly knew that Rhys was the way to get Jack to read it. He glanced at the letter, to Gaige's face, and back. “This better not be poisoned,” he said.

Gaige shook her head and jostled the paper. “I'm holding it in my bare hands, sir. The paper is fine, and there's no surprises hidden inside it, I promise.”

“Promise. Right.” Jack eyed the letter and snatched it, holding it out in front of him. It was thick, folded up, and he slowly opened it, pausing between each unfolding to look at the letter carefully.

“Oh, for goodness' sake, just open it!” Nisha snapped. “If you die I'll avenge your death.”

“All right, fine!” Jack shot her a look and opened the letter fully. It was written in a long, flowing scrawl, the words so thin they were difficult to read and almost vanished in places. The end of every letter curved off the word like a ribbon and the line spacing was even, carefully planned.

It was Rhys' handwriting.

Jack's hand tightened on the paper and his breathed in sharply. “Rhys,” he whispered.

Nisha leaned close, her hand on Jack's shoulder, nosing in. “This is his handwriting?” she asked. “I didn't know Rhys could even write.”

Jack nodded numbly. He hadn't seen Rhys' handwriting in years but he would never forget it; they'd spent many painstaking hours after Jack had finished his duties of the day, sitting in Jack's private office and working by candlelight to show Rhys letters of the Greek alphabet, spelling words out for him so Rhys could copy. It had taken a couple years but eventually Rhys was writing regularly, checking Jack's letters and drafting responses when he didn't have the patience to write anything himself.

Tears pricked at the edges of Jack's vision. He quickly blinked them away and focused on the page. There was some shakiness to some of the letters, and an ink splotch in the corner that Rhys would never have let slip if he were writing something formal.

It greeted him by name and went on about how much Rhys missed him. Jack's heart clenched. Rhys quickly moved on to Vaughn’s attack, and how it hadn’t been Vaughn’s fault but rather the fault of a vengeful goddess trying to protect Troy.

“Gods?!” Jack said, holding the letter out. “That little punk–”

He stopped, remembering the company he was in. The memory of August flashed behind his eyes, how the god had spoken of fighting and being unable to stop the war.

“‘That little punk’ what?” Niesha asked, trying to lean in close and read the letter herself. Jack batted her away and sidestepped.

“The gods,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Rhys says Vaughn only broke the duel because the gods are invested in this war and forced him to attack me.”

“That's . . . a bold claim.” Nisha leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Do you believe him?”

“Rhys wouldn't lie, not on purpose, but I'm not sure it matters either way. Let me finish.” He turned so Nisha couldn't keep staring, reading down the page.

His brow furrowed, lips parting to mimic some of the words as he went over them. Rhys spoke succinctly, laying out a plan and asking for Jack to cooperate.

Rhys was set on the idea that they couldn't do anything to anger the Goddess of Love, but after seeing August with his own eyes, Jack didn't blame him. Inciting the wrath of the gods would only hurt them.

“It's Rhys,” he said, folding the letter when he was done. “I would know his writing anywhere. He's suggesting a plan for us to take down Troy.”

Gaige beamed, hopping on the balls of her feet. “Oh, yes! I've always wanted to do something to throw off King Tassiter! What did he say?”

Jack raised a brow at her. “He proposed we remove the favor of the gods from Troy and sneak inside the city to attack when their support and guard are down.”

A long, empty pause stretched through the group as everyone considered what that would mean. Jack himself wasn't sure; sneaking inside the city was something they would have _done_ by now if they had a way to do it, but Tassiter treated any threat like the end of the world, guarding against every impossibility like a snake against a mongoose.

Nisha spoke first. “How are we going to sneak into a city we haven't been able to access for six years?”

“I'm not sure,” Jack said, “but the letter says to meet at the south side of the city near the shoreline, when the moon isn't visible.”

“That'll be in a few days.” Nisha put a hand on her chin, considering. “You're sure this is Rhys?”

“I taught him to write,” Jack said, waving the letter, thinking of the long nights in the palace. He could almost see Rhys' face in the candlelight, fingers tracing over the paper where Jack had written each symbol, mouth moving along with them. Jack had nearly lost it when he'd first learned Rhys couldn't read or write, that he'd been deprived that kind of education, but fixing it himself, staying up with Rhys and watching his brow furrow as he figured out the meanings and shapes had been a delight, and his chest swelled even now to think Rhys was writing to him, imploring him. “I would know that handwriting anywhere.”

“Does he _have_ a plan?” It was the first time Roland had spoken, staring at the letter in Jack's hand. “I like Rhys as much as anyone, but he's not a strategist.”

“He doesn't say.” Jack glanced at the letter again. “But knowing him, he's aware that anyone could read this letter. Stating the plan outright would be stupid.” He folded up the page, tucking it into his robe. It burned against his skin, the only trace of Rhys he'd had in six years.

Jack looked at Gaige again. She was small, thin. A good runner and a wise choice for a messenger, but nevertheless, a Trojan. “Are you going to say anything about what happened here?”

Gaige bounced on her toes again, head tilted to think. “No,” she said. “Vaughn told me not to, and I like your ideas. King Tassiter has controlled Troy for way too long and a lot of us are fed up with the war. If you want, I can carry a message back to Vaughn to confirm that you're meeting with him.”

Jack put a hand over where the letter sat, paper crinkling against his skin. “Fine. Wait here.”

They had paper for messages, of course, but Jack hadn't written anything himself in a while. Timothy had been handling that, asking for supplies from cities in the area, trading resources and promises. He was better at the diplomatic thing than Jack ever would be.

Jack sought Timothy out in his tent, working over his makeshift desk, already writing something. “Timothy,” he said, and he startled, looking up.

“Er, yes, Jack?”

“Draft a letter.” He reached into his robe and held up the letter from Rhys. “It's time to end this war.”

 

* * *

 

The tunnels into Troy were hidden in a cliffside that just barely reached the beach, the entrance halfway filled with water. In the middle of the night, wet and shivering, Vaughn waited for Nisha to make herself known.

They had first met on the night of the new moon. Jack didn't dare go himself, in case it was a trap, and Vaughn didn't dare send Rhys for the same reason. So he had met Nisha, Jack's second in command and a vicious woman who would have slaughtered Vaughn on sight if not for the promise that he could get her into the city to weaken Troy and win the war.

Vaughn had tried to explain his reasoning about the gods as best he could. Nisha listened carefully, nodding along to his words. They all feared the gods, even those who didn't believe in them, on the off chance that they might be listening anyway. After telling Rhys he'd been controlled by Yvette, he'd nearly had a heart attack at the sight of an actual goddess in his room. Vaughn thought of Sasha's warnings. If they went too far out of line, if they were too obvious, Yvette might see fit to ruin everything.

He startled out of his thoughts at the sound of someone splashing inside the tunnel's entrance, whirling around to see Nisha, her legs soaked up to the knee. “Why would you build an entrance here of all places,” she growled. Her hair was falling in her face, the ends soaked from water that had splashed up in errant waves. She gripped a knife tightly in one hand.

“Because it's hard to get to,” Vaughn said simply.

“I understand the _logic_ ,” Nisha griped, huffing as she escaped the worst of the incoming sea and shook the excess water from her clothes. “It doesn't mean I care for it.”

Vaughn shuffled, glancing at the tunnel behind him where it stretched into the darkness. There was a torch on the wall, the only sign visible from the outside that someone was here, and not easily spotted unless you knew where to look. He'd guided Nisha to the tunnel entrance the first time they met, showing her where to spot the light.

“Let's go.” Nisha straightened herself out and looked out down the length of the tunnel. “We need to finish this by the time the sun rises. Jack is already preparing for the rest of the plan. If it all goes well, Troy won't know anything.”

“Good.” Vaughn lifted the torch from the wall and held it up, starting down the long tunnels that wound under the ground and back into the city of Troy.

It was up to Vaughn to steal the idols from the temples and ruin the offerings. They'd discussed the risk; Rhys and Vaughn both knew that Yvette could invoke her wrath on Vaughn, but he'd been willing to die for Rhys once and he would do it again. If anyone but a Trojan did it, Yvette would have no reason to quit supporting Troy and their plan might be for naught.

The idols couldn't go just anywhere, though. If they stayed in Troy it wouldn't matter that Vaughn had taken them out of the temples, especially if Tassiter found out what he'd been doing.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Vaughn asked, looking over his shoulder.

Nisha's smirk in the darkness was like a cat's grin, teeth flashing. “Of course I can. I've led armies into battle, I can handle carrying a few statues and some prayer offerings.”

“It's blasphemy,” he warned, looking into the tunnel again. It wasn't a long walk, the tunnels carved in as straight a path as possible, but it was cold and damp, and their voices echoed for hundreds of yards. “To go against a goddess.”

“She's the one who offered Rhys up for snatching, isn't she?” Nisha scoffed. “The gods are powerful but they're not deserving of honor if they do something like giving away a wife to someone else. Yvette can face me herself if she gets riled up.”

Vaughn nodded, licking his lips. He'd been taught by Tassiter since he was young to always fear the gods and never doubt them, but as he grew and read stories about them it became more and more obvious that the gods were just as flawed as mortals, even if they had lightning bolts and the power to crush mortals in their palms.

They were almost to the city, the path marked with symbols along the walls that Vaughn traced with his hands. Nisha walked a little faster, matching Vaughn's pace, and said, “I know you're keeping Rhys away to protect him, but . . . can I at least see him? Make sure he's safe?”

Vaughn hesitated, glancing up at her. She was much taller than him, dark skinned and lined with muscle. Vaughn was strong in his own right but Nisha was Spartan; everyone in Troy knew that the Spartans were the reason the Greeks hadn't lost or given up yet. She could probably eat Vaughn for breakfast if she had a mind to.

But her voice was soft as she asked about Rhys, betraying the hard way she looked down at him. She was watching him, waiting.

“I don't know,” Vaughn answered honestly. “I don't want to risk Yvette thinking Rhys was involved and hurting him somehow.”

“Why?”

That made him pause, steps nearly faltering in the tunnel. “Because I care about him,” he said simply.

“Do you love him?” Her tone was harsher, tinged with both teasing and anger, like the sound of cracking knuckles.

Vaughn shook his head, the torch light flickering in his hands. “Not like that. I started out protecting him from my damn brother. It didn't matter if some goddess blessed their union or whatever, it was obvious that Rhys hated him and wanted nothing to do with Vasquez. I was basically a guard dog for the first few months.”

“Vasqeuz,” Nisha snarled, lips curling up. “I didn't like him from the moment he stepped into Jack's palace.” Her eyes slid back over Vaughn, appraising. “You protected Rhys?”

“I had to, or . . . terrible stuff would have happened.” Vaughn swallowed hard, thinking of it. Rhys wouldn't have been the first unwilling partner in Vasquez's bed. Too many people had left the palace in tears before Vaughn even realized Vasquez had taken someone to his room for the night. “Especially since he's missing an arm. Vasquez wouldn't hesitate to take advantage.”

“Scum,” Nisha spat. “Jack will appreciate you looking out for Rhys.”

“As much as I could. And over time, well.” He shrugged, smiling fondly. “I got attached. Rhys is a good person and I like spending time with him. It's been six years; he deserves to go back home with his husband.”

“Good to hear.” Nisha paused, looking up at the ceiling and along the walls of the tunnel. “How much farther?”

“Not too much. We should actually be seeing the end of the tunnel soon.” Vaughn raised his torch, letting the light fall farther across the floor. “Ah! There it is!”

The tunnel came out into a small alley at the base of the plateau where the Trojan Palace sat. It was hidden by a block of buildings that Tassiter had reserved as meeting rooms for when he talked to the commoners in the city, and the angle of their walls kept the small alley nearly invisible unless someone walked right into it by mistake. Even then, the tunnel's entrance was obscured by leaves and branches hanging down over the edge of the plateau's base where it had been carved.

Vaughn waited to see it if was quiet and guided Nisha through. The city was asleep. No one would hear them coming or going on the soft dirt streets, and anyone who saw the glow of the torch would assume it was a guard making their rounds.

“Wait here for me,” Vaughn said before they'd even stepped out of the alley. “I have to–” He shuddered, “–desecrate the temples. Watch for any guards and if you think someone sees you, duck into the tunnel. This alcove is pretty well hidden. I don't think anyone would even know it's here, let alone that someone was hiding in it.”

“And you'll just steal from the temples?” Nisha said, raising a brow. Her tone leaked mistrust like a faulty water bucket.

Vaughn huffed, hand tightening around the torch. “ _Yes_. If you don't wait here a Trojan guard is going to launch an arrow bolt into your throat, so I suggest being patient. If I'm not back in a couple of hours you can come find me, but stay near the buildings and away from any windows, all right?”

Nisha scoffed, rolling her eyes. “As if this was my first stealth mission. I've led armies, pretty boy. I can handle sitting here for a little while.”

“Good, then. Don't move.” Vaughn peered out of the alley. No guards were nearby. With one last look at Nisha, he slipped out into the street, holding the torch up high enough to see the road.

Vaughn knew the city like the back of his hand. The nearest temple wasn't far and he started a quick walk. The moon was beyond its apex and everyone would be deep in sleep. If he were lucky he wouldn't even find any guards out on patrol.

There were plenty of temples spread throughout Troy, even moreso when Rhys had come and Vasquez had sung the praises of the Goddess of Love. Rhys was rarely allowed to leave the palace, but people from the city met him when they visited King Tassiter, and Rhys had been down to the marketplace enough times to charm the robes off the people he saw. Everyone who had an extended conversation with him ended up liking him, so when King Tassiter had asked that they thank Yvette for her gift with temple offerings, not many had disagreed. A few temples were rededicated and the ones who already honored the Goddess of Love were given extra decorations and additions. Now almost every temple in Troy had at least one altar for Yvette, if the entire building wasn't already dedicated to her.

In the nearest temple, the altar given to her was obvious, decorated with fruits of passion and prayer scripts asking for blessings in love. A statue of her was sitting on the wide table of offerings, made of gold with a marble base, depicting her with flowers in her hair and a soft face.

Sasha hadn't looked much like any images Vaughn had seen of her, so he was willing to bet the statue of Yvette wasn't very accurate either. He stepped closer, careful to move slow and not let his steps echo. The temple roof sat on a long row of columns and Yvette's altar was situated against one wall, across from other altars. The one at the head of the room was dedicated to the God of War.

Vaughn breathed hard, stopping in front of Yvette's altar. He'd never committed a slight against one of the gods on purpose, fearing their wrath even as he questioned their existence. He had proof now, his own memory of Sasha burning in his mind. 

“I'm willing to die for Rhys,” Vaughn said quietly, reaching out. That didn’t mean he particularly wanted to, though. Swallowing, he closed the last few inches of space and snatched the golden statue from its resting place on the altar.

He flinched at the weight and hefted the statue, listening for any sign that disaster was coming; the rolling rocks of an avalanche, the crashing waves of a tsunami, the rebel cries of people suddenly incensed to fight against Troy.

But none of it came. The night was still quiet. Vaughn glanced at the statue in his hands, reflecting the torchlight in orange curves off its surface. “Thank the gods,” he muttered, and snorted at the irony, moving close to the altar to grab more offerings and rip the written prayers from their place on the table, silently apologizing to those who had placed them there. They needed every advantage they could get to ruin Troy's image in Yvette's eyes.

It was almost more than he could carry, and Vaughn hefted his haul, torch held up high in one hand and casting long shadows as he left. The wind was blowing gently outside, the moon slowly making its way toward the horizon. Vaughn hurried down the street as fast as he dared, back toward the alley where Nisha was waiting.

She eyed the altar pieces carefully but didn't say anything as Vaughn arranged them carefully on the ground. She'd brought a sack with her and knelt on the ground, working to pile everything into it to carry out of the tunnels. Vaughn watched for a moment and quickly left again to find the next temple.

He wouldn't be able to hit them all; the city was too big and he was only one person. He didn't need everything, though; just enough that Yvette's rage was incensed and the Greeks could finally take their chance to seek revenge.

Nisha had said Jack was starting a plan to get into the city, something he'd apparently discussed with his brother. All Vaughn knew was that they were going to pretend to leave, taking a few ships to hide on the edges of the rocks around Troy's coast, but he had no idea how that would get them into Troy. He didn't focus on it, moving through the temples in Troy and taking as much as he could carry back to Nisha.

He made four trips before Nisha's pack started getting visibly full. When she lifted it she breathed out hard, legs straining to hold the weight up over her back. “I don't think I can carry much more,” she said, voice strained.

“We'll stop,” Vaughn said, looking up at the sky. The moon was almost setting and the sky was slowly growing lighter with the coming dawn. “Take these back. Yvette will know it was me who did this, if she knows at all.”

Nisha grunted as she hefted the bag again, looking at Vaughn. “Do you really think the gods are paying attention to what we're doing?”

Vaughn's lips thinned, thinking of Sasha. She'd created a pomegranate out of thin air and he still remembered the way he'd felt, like the life had been seeping out through his mouth, emptying from his lungs as his breath was held in a vice grip. She'd stolen his own energy to craft the fruit and hadn't looked the least bit bothered by it.

“I do,” he said, nodding at Nisha. “Vasquez wouldn't lie about Yvette helping him kidnap Rhys. I don't think he's competent enough to do it on his own, honestly.”

Nisha laughed faintly, breath stuttering with the weight of her burden. “I wouldn’t think so, either.” She stood as straight as she could, arms straining. “I'll take these back to the Greeks. We'll take care of the rest of the plan from here. All you have to do is be ready to get Rhys the hell out of the palace, all right?”

“I will,” Vaughn said firmly. “Go, before people wake up and see you.”

Nisha hefted the bag again and hurried back to the entrance of the tunnel, vanishing down it. It would be dark, hard to find her way, but there was only one path. Eventually she would find the exit. Vaughn prayed that she got back to the Greek camp safely.

The only thing left to do was wait. The Greeks had a plan, even if Vaughn didn't know what it was. He trusted Rhys enough to trust them too.

Vaughn knelt down and put the torch out in the ground, tossing it next to the entrance and making his way out of the alley, letting the dawn light his way down the street and back to the steps of the palace. It was time to end this war.


	9. Chapter 9

“Jack!” Lilith gasped, shoving his tent open. “Nisha's back from Troy!”

His head snapped up. “She made it?!”

“Yes, come on!” she said, ducking out, tent flap whacking like a whip crack behind her. Jack followed, kicking over his chair with a bang in the rush.

He'd half expected Nisha to come back with Vaughn's head on a pike. Jack still didn't trust the little bastard after he'd ruined the duel but Rhys' letter had been sincere and pleading and, according to Nisha, Vaughn had apologized profusely for what he'd done.

At least Nisha had made it back.

Jack had moved to the coastline camp when Nisha had told him that the entrance to get into Troy was near the cliffs. It was smaller than the main camp, the scent of the sea washing up his nose and biting at the insides of his nostrils. He rubbed aggressively at his nose as he walked down the line of tents, trying to clear the smell of raw fish and seaweed.

Timothy was fluttering around Nisha. A large, heavy sack, one that Nisha had taken with her, bulged with unknown contents at her feet. Lilith was bent over it, examining it. Nisha slumped, leaning on Timothy and breathing hard. Her cheeks were flushed, and when she looked up at Jack from beneath her lashes, her eyes were tired, pausing with every blink like she might fall asleep.

“Nisha?” he asked, stepping close. People were coming out of their tents but he ignored them, reaching up to put a hand on her shoulder. “What happened, how are you?”

“I'm fine.” She shook her head, blinking fast. “I'm just tired from lugging around heavy idols from the cliffs.”

“Idols?” Jack peered down at the bag, which Lilith had started working on the knot for.

“Vaughn was stealing favor from Troy, like he told me.” Nisha grunted, pushing off of Timothy to stand on her own, glancing down at the bag and back to Jack. “If a goddess is responsible for this, she won't want to support Troy now. One of their own took all of her idols.”

Lilith's eyes were wide as she pulled the flap of the bag away, revealing golden idols and marble statues, piled together and clanking loudly as they fell against each other, all crafted in the same image of a woman.

“The Goddess of Love,” Jack snarled. “I'd bet my life on it even if I didn't already know.”

“Troy is obsessed with her since Tassiter praised her for bringing them Rhys.” Nisha crossed her arms, glaring down at the pile. “Supposedly she's protecting Troy, helping them. Even if she _doesn't_ care, someone raiding their temples isn't going to inspire confidence. We're going to make them fear us, Jack. Even their goddess can't help them now.”

Jack toed at the edge of the bag. Yvette would be enraged if she looked at Troy and saw all of her temples desecrated, the idols stolen. “This is Vaughn's half of the deal?”

“He said he would be sure Yvette blamed the city and lost her faith in them.” Nisha rubbed a hand against her eye, blinking the fatigue away. “And he spoke heavily of how tired Troy is, as tired as we are of fighting. They're already losing their morale. Ruined temples will only make it worse.”

“So we're dragging them down. He was telling the truth.” Jack brought a hand up, feeling the letter from Rhys that he’d kept tucked against his chest, inside his robes. It burned, like the fire of the sun against his heart.

Lilith was picking up the various idols with fascination, fingers running down the length and no doubt judging the value of each. They’d sell well back at Troy. “Does Vaughn know what we're doing?”

“He only knows that we have a plan and he's anticipating it. I only told him to do what he had to to protect Rhys.”

Jack turned, looking across the beach at the broken ships his men were assembling.

They needed access to the city and Vaughn had refused them the tunnels of Troy. They were small, built for only a few people at a time, and carrying an army through them would have let the Trojans know they were coming long before they had a force large enough to do any lasting damage. They'd be ambushed within minutes.

The city gate, however, was the size of a building. Jack could easily fit every Greek in his legion through it, if they stayed open. They just needed to get _in_ , and then they could open the gate for the rest of their forces.

He looked at Timothy and gestured to the broken ship sitting in the sands. “Do you think this plan will work?”

“It has to,” Timothy said, his voice firm. He watched the soldiers assembling the ship, carrying boards and piling them by size. The ship had broken in the early stages of the war during one of Troy’s secret attacks; the Greeks had slaughtered them and the Trojans hadn’t attacked during the night again, but they’d lost two boats in the fight.

Timothy sighed, teeth grit as he reined in his patience. “If the Trojans are as beaten down as Nisha says, they'll be glad to see us go. And if Tassiter is as prideful as we've seen, he won't pass up an opportunity to gain the gods' favor over us, especially if his temples have been ruined.”

Jack's lips thinned, staring at the broken boat that was slowly taking a new shape, his men pulling out planks and strapping them together in walls and planes to repurpose the old wood. “Fine,” he said. “Let's set up an altar for the idols and give some worship of our own, prove to the deities that we're better than those pathetic Trojans. I'll oversee the building of the offering.”

Nisha smiled and clapped her hands together. “Perfect, let's go.”

When Timothy had presented his idea to help the Greeks get into the city, the broken boats had been the first thing Jack had thought of. In the days between corresponding with Vaughn, Jack's men had been prying planks apart and reassembling them. Timothy had sketched a blueprint, held by an overseer that walked around the project and shouted instructions, and now it was almost done.

The sun had risen an hour ago and Jack had ordered his men to work as quickly as possible; the offering only needed a few final parts.

It was in the shape of a horse.

After an altar had been made for the idols and a few proper prayers given, Jack waved people together, glancing around at his soldiers. “Build a fire,” he said. “An enormous one, the bigger the better. And gather together anything that can make noise, I know we have a few instruments lying around for the war marches. We're going to make tonight big, loud, and visible so the Trojans know exactly what we're doing.”

“Er.” One woman raised her hand, her eyebrow quirked. “King Jack, what _are_ we doing? You've yet to fully explain it.”

Jack frowned and sighed, rubbing his hand down his face. It was still sore where he'd been hurt and he flinched at the pain. “You all know we had someone break into Troy for us, yes? To break their morale by stealing idols?”

The group of soldiers around him nodded. Jack had told Lilith, Roland, Timothy, and Nisha, and no doubt word had spread from them. He hadn't made a formal declaration yet, but he was saving that for tonight, around the bonfire.

“Right,” he said. “We're going to make Troy think we're leaving, that we're done and we're going home. We're _not_ going home, but I'll explain that later. Your job now is to get together everything for tonight's celebration because we're throwing the biggest party we can.”

The group saluted him and scattered, scavenging around camp for supplies. Jack spent the day walking through the tents, double checking that no one was slacking off. Nisha had taken a nap to be fully rested for that evening. When a woman stepped in front of him Jack had a split second of confusion, jolting away.

It was Lilith, glaring up at him suspiciously.

“Oh,” Jack said, and deflated. “What's wrong now, Lilith?”

“Nothing,” she said, though her tone sounded like a cat watching a bird fly too high to catch. She turned as Jack started walking through the camp again, matching his steps with ease. Jack had a long stride but Lilith was fast and kept up well. “I was wondering what will happen if this doesn't work. It's not like the bait is subtle.”

“It's not supposed to be subtle,” Jack said, leaning down to swat a sleeping soldier upside the head. The man startled and looked up, eyes going wide when he saw Jack sneering at him. He scrambled up and mumbled an apology, skittering away. Jack turned back to Lilith. “It's an offering to the Goddess of War. The best thing we _can_ do is make it ostentatious. We have to catch Tassiter's attention.”

“You don't think he's going to be suspicious?” she asked, tilting her head. “I mean, it's a giant wooden _horse_ of all things.”

“The Goddess of War is powerful,” Jack said simply, breaking the edge of camp and walking down to where their offering was still being constructed. It was nearly done, the body of a large horse lying sideways on the sand. When it was complete they would haul it up and stand it on a platform with wheels to bring to the city of Troy itself. “She wouldn't accept anything but the best offerings.”

“If you say so.” Lilith eyed the horse while soldiers scrambled to secure the edges with rope and strap each piece together. It wasn't yet sunset but they only had a few hours left, and Jack wanted to incite Troy as soon as possible.

“We're ending this,” he said, one hand curling into a fist, looking up and glaring at the Trojan walls beyond their camps. “Don't worry, Rhysie. We're coming.”

 

* * *

 

Tassiter pulled at his thin hair, shaking his head rapidly. “We're going to lose all the favor the goddess has for us! Who would do such an act?!”

Vaughn, standing at the side of Tassiter's throne, offering a sympathetic pat that Tassiter quickly shook off. Frowning, he said, “Did you do anything that might have upset anyone? Missing idols are a large offense, sir. No one would have done that unless they felt truly upset.”

“I did not upset anyone so much as to invoke the wrath of the gods,” Tassiter spat. “I would blame those Greeks but they would have raided the entire city if they _had_ managed to make it inside.”

Vaughn shrugged, helpless to suggest anything else. Tassiter growled like a lion, curling into himself and pulling his hair so hard Vaughn thought he might yank it out.

It hadn't taken long for people to find out what Vaughn had done at the temples. People prayed every day and the devout ones went early in the morning before their jobs, bringing small bits of food or offerings for the gods.

A young woman had come running up the palace steps before dawn and nearly collapsed from exhaustion in front of Tassiter's throne to give a message about Yvette's altars being desecrated.

By the time the sun was up at the noon hour the entire palace was buzzing with it, talking about omens and the war, and what they would do without the favor of their most precious goddess. Vaughn listened with a careful ear to everything they said, relaying the important bits back to Tassiter to give him just enough anxiety to go over the edge.

He wasn't quite there yet, but he was close, groaning and muttering about how to inspire the citizens to keep praying to a goddess that might have already abandoned them.

Rhys and Vasquez were in the throne room, too, although neither paid Tassiter more attention than they had to. Vasquez didn't care about the politics and Rhys was jittery and nervous about their plan, walking around and fussing with his robes every minute to keep his hand occupied. His feet made light thumps on the marble, the pattering echoing with a faint noise.

The sun was almost setting now, the city cast in darkness. The longer the day went on the more Vaughn fidgeted, thinking of Nisha's promise. Jack had a plan, she'd assured him. They were going to take Rhys back and go home. Not knowing _what_ that was and whether the people in the city would survive had Vaughn's nerves strung up like tight wires, plucked with every servant that came in the room with a message about their guests, or peace treaties Tassiter needed to look at, or any number of smaller issues that made Tassiter bear his teeth and send the servants scrambling out of the room.

There was no way past the gate and the tunnels were too small. If the Greeks tried to get into the city tonight they would surely die. Vaughn was almost sure of it, his eyes flicking back to Rhys every minute. His heart tightened in his chest, worry and hope mixing unpleasantly, and the memory of Jack's bleeding face like a stamp at the back of his mind.  

Vasquez leaned over the edge of a window, looking out across the hills to the coastline. The Greek camps were visible from this room; Tassiter had spent many a day standing there, watching, as if he could control the Greek movements with his mind. Vasquez had been there for several minutes, staring with an intensity that made Vaughn's brow raise, as the sun continued setting and Vasquez refused to move.

“What's so interesting?” he asked at last, moving up next to Vasquez to look out the adjacent window.

“There's something out there,” Vasquez said, squinting. “I can't make it out.”

Vaughn looked across the hills and valley to where one of the camps was nestled by the shoreline. In the center of it was a light that got brighter as the sun set and the darkness settled over the scenery like a soft blanket, tucked into the sides of the hills and curling over rooftops in the city. “Yeah, it's a Greek camp.”

“No shit, asshole,” Vasquez snarled, not taking his eyes away from the scene beyond the window. “I meant what was _in_ the camp. That light.”

Vaughn tilted his head, eyes squinting. There were usually lights in the camps, fires burning all hours of the evening, but for once Vasquez was right. The light burning in the camp by the sea was much bigger and brighter than usual, and it flickered wildly.

“They're up to something,” Vasquez said, hands tight over the edge of the window. “Their ships are all lined up in the water, too.”

“What?!” At the word Tassiter looked up, suddenly alert. He moved to the window quickly. Rhys walked toward them too, not one to be left out once things started happening. “What about their ships?” Tassiter asked as he pushed Vasquez out of the way.

“They look ready to push out to sea,” Vasquez said, grunting and adjusting himself, slicking back his hair. He hovered near the window, glancing out over Tassiter's head. “Are they leaving?”

Rhys rushed to the window by Vaughn, hands tight, lips in a thin line. “They can't be leaving!”

They shouldn't be. Vaughn's eyes narrowed, looking through the window with Rhys. The Greek ships were up on the water, bouncing gently, almost specks at this distance. He knew enough about boats to know that triremes couldn't be put into the water for more than a day, their thin frames absorbing it too quickly. They wouldn't be in the water unless they were heading out soon.

Vaughn glanced around the land, looking for the lights of the other camps. But they were all dark; he'd always been able to see three or four of them in the night, and now the only one that he could spot was the camp by the sea.

If they were preparing to leave they had to be enacting their plan soon. They wouldn't leave without Rhys.

“It's been a long war,” he said carefully, moving away from the window. “I don't see why they would give up now.”

“They're using another strategy,” Tassiter hissed, jerking away and frowning, disgusted. “The cowards. Stealing our idols from the temples and running away, no doubt to attack us from another side.”

“How would they have stolen the idols?” Vaughn said flatly, rolling his eyes. “If they'd been able to get into the city they would have murdered us all.”

“It wasn't our _own_! The goddess has faith in us!” Tassiter snapped, glaring at him like a rabid dog. “We're going to _win_ this war and I won't let those sneaky trickster Greeks get the best of us!” He whirled around, leaning out the window again, eyes narrowed. “We're marching down there ourselves. If they plan to leave we'll hit them when it really hurts.”

“They can't be leaving,” Rhys said again, quiet. Vaughn moved to him quickly and put a hand over his shoulder, squeezing. Rhys stared out the window, eyes wide and full of tentative hope. He couldn't deny the nature of the boats either, running his hand through his hair and breathing out hard as he looked toward the sea.

“They finally gave up on you,” Vasquez said, grinning. He moved faster than Vaughn could stop him, sidling close to Rhys and putting a hand around his waist. “Once they're gone we can finally–”

“Get off!” Rhys slapped up with his hand, striking Vazquez in the face at the same time as he ducked and wove out of his grip. Vasquez yelped and stumbled back, glaring at him. Rhys snarled right back, lips pulled back to show his teeth. “Jack wouldn't give up on me,” he growled. “And even if he did, I don't want anything to do with your slimy ass.”

“Rhys, please.” Tassiter's voice was tight and he went to Vasquez, patting his shoulder consolingly and raising a brow at Rhys. “Is there really a need for violence? We have a war to focus on.”

“They're not leaving!” Rhys snapped. “If you go down to the camp tonight you're just going to get attacked.”

“I hardly think they'd risk the safety of their boats by letting them sit in ocean water.” Tassiter pushed his glasses up his nose and went to the window again, sneering down toward the shoreline. “We're gathering a force tonight and ambushing their camp.”

Rhys spun around, mouth open, but Vaughn put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head quickly. “Rhys,” he said quietly, tugging gently. Rhys groaned and let himself be moved a few steps away, leaning down to listen to him. “I talked to Nisha, they can't _really_ be leaving. She was determined to get you home safe. I'm sure they're just up to something. They probably _want_ Tassiter to come down. They need a way to get into the city, remember?” He spoke fast, willing his words to settle Rhys' ruffled feathers. 

Glancing at Tassiter and Vasquez, Rhys sighed and said, “I know, I know. I just . . .” He stopped himself and breathed out heavily. Standing, he said, “Jack is a force to be reckoned with, Tassiter. Do you even know what going down there might bring you?”

“Glory and gold, if I send my strongest.” Tassiter's face scrunched up, like he'd swallowed a lemon. “Do you dare to imply my forces are weak?”

“No,” Rhys immediately replied. “I wouldn't dare. I'm just saying that you should be careful.”

Tassiter growled and moved closer. He stopped a few feet in front of Rhys; in the six years Rhys had been living at the palace, Tassiter never stood very close to him, like Rhys was a gem to be put in a cage and watched, never handled.

“I'll show you careful,” he said, turning away swiftly. “Vasquez! Come with me. We're taking an expedition to the Greek camp.”

Rhys' lips clamped shut, the question of whether he could come with them already half formed in his throat. They never let Rhys leave the palace unless Vasquez was doing errands in the city, but he couldn't help thinking of Jack with a flutter of hope in his chest, like a dying bird.

Vasquez followed his father and they left the throne room, the door echoing behind them when it slammed shut. Rhys flinched at the noise, hand curling into a fist at his side. “Vaughn,” he said quietly.

“I know.” Vaughn moved close and rubbed his shoulder. “Jack isn't leaving without you, I promise. And whatever Tassiter has planned is probably what Jack wants. None of them can get into the city by themselves.” He assumed; it was hard to deny the sight of the boats and Vaughn held Rhys tighter at the thought. 

“They've got a plan,” Rhys said, more to himself than to Vaughn. “They have a plan and we're going to win this. Right?” He looked down, eyes wide.

Vaughn smiled as best he could and nodded, squeezing Rhys' shoulder. “Yes. We're going to win and you'll be home before you know it.”

Rhys looked up again, staring at the throne room door. All they could do now was wait.

 

* * *

 

With a trained regime of soldiers marching at a quick, even, uninterrupted pace, going from Troy's city walls to the shoreline didn't take more than a few hours. The Trojan soldiers were well trained and easily kept a strong pace over the roads that wound out from Troy down to the sea, feet hitting the ground at a rhythmic beat, war drums that announced their intent to the world.

Without the height of the palace's plateau they couldn't see the Trojan camp. The night had descended quickly as they marched, but Tassiter continued forward without hesitation, sword lashed to his hip and expression set in deep concentration.

“What do we do if they're still there?” Vasquez asked, glancing sideways at Tassiter. He walked with him at the front as he always did, his hand ready at the sword on his hip in preparation for an attack. “They'll be at their home base with all of their resources.”

“We fight,” Tassiter said simply. “They won't be expecting us to march down there when we've stayed in the city this entire war. At worst we catch them off guard and the fight is a scramble. At best, the majority of them are already asleep.” He grinned as he said that, thinking of Greeks dying at his hands.

Vasquez smiled with him, a low laugh rumbling through his chest. “Like mice in cat's paws. We'll show them what we mean with a war.”

The roads curved and ended near the shoreline, the dirt turning to rocky soil and sand. The soldier's marches didn't falter but they slowed, stepping carefully over uneven terrain. Tassiter kept his eyes sharp over the ground, watching for the camp.

The light that had been visible from the palace had died and the darkness was settling in, but Tassiter caught the sight of collapsed tents on the grounds not far from the sea, in front of massive rock cliffs. The sound of the water rushing against the shore covered their steps. When they were close he put a hand up like a wall to stop the soldiers' march.

The tents were half collapsed and sinking into the ground. There was a large firepit in the center of the destroyed camp, and Tassiter could smell the remnants of burnt wood and ash. What they’d seen from the palace had been a bonfire.

But there was no sign of the Greeks. What had been an expansive camp with many tents that housed at least two hundred was now a meager collection of abandoned tarps and sticks. Tassiter's eyes flicked over the camp grounds and to the shore on the east where they'd dragged their ships onto the land.

They were gone.

“There's no sign of them,” Vasquez said, echoing his thoughts. “They really _did_ leave. That big fire must have been one last hurrah before they abandoned their cause.”

“They've fled like cowardly children,” Tassiter said, laughing quietly. “Ducking away in the dead of night, unable to face me. I knew Jack was little more than a pathetic child.”

Vasquez grinned beside him. The murmur of the news rippled through the soldiers, the words flowing down the line, quiet cheers bouncing between them. They didn't dare break rank but the possibility that they'd won, without so much as a final battle, had them shifting and moving to get a better look at the Greek camp.

“None of you break formation!” Tassiter snapped, the soldiers jolting at the sound of his voice. “We're going to investigate. Be _on guard_ , we have no idea if they're waiting to ambush us.” He looked at the camp again. Delighted as he was, it still made no sense. Six years dedicated to fighting to steal Rhys away, dozens of battles, and Jack spitting at him that he wouldn't abandon his former wife, and for what? Running away in the middle of the night?

Cautiously, Tassiter led the group forward. The sand shifted under his feet and made his steps uneven but he kept his back straight and edged closer to the abandoned camp, his men following close and quiet behind him.

There didn't seem to be a trick. Tassiter stopped at the edge of the camp, peering inside. No traps or wires that he could see. “Vasquez,” he whispered, looking up at his son. “Walk inside, investigate it for me.”

Vasquez made a face. “Why me? Get one of the soldiers to do it.”

“Vasquez,” Tassiter snarled, turning sharply to face him. “What I give you an order, you obey without question. I have _told_ you this. Go in the camp and check for traps! Or else I'll send you home and we can have a long discussion about what role you play when I get back to the palace.”

Putting his hands up quickly, Vasquez said, “All right, all right. I'll go.” He looked at the camp, hesitating. “Watch my back.”

Tassiter didn't respond, mouth twisting in a sneer as Vasquez took the first shaky steps into the camp, walking past the tents and to where the bonfire had been doused. He walked around it, inspecting the ashes, and poked at a few of the tents. The camp was big enough to house several hundred and Vasquez couldn't cover every inch, but when he'd made his way a few yards in Tassiter motioned for the soldiers to follow.

There truly was nothing. What tents had been left were half collapsed, like they'd left in a hurry, and the bonfire didn't even have embers left, probably doused with water from the sea. They'd started it and left quickly, possibly knowing that the Trojans would see their fire and chase them down. Tassiter looked at the soldiers slowly spreading over the camp to investigate, grinning; the Greeks been right to run.

A few minutes into their search Vasquez started shouting. The words were faint, carried away by the breeze over the ocean. Tassiter paused in picking up an errant piece of armor to look for him. He was carrying a torch but so were a dozen other soldiers and it took a moment to find his large form amongst them. “What is it?” he said, walking as swiftly as he could on the shifting sand and dirt.

“Look!” Vasquez said, pointing across the camp to a spot farther up shore, where the sand and dirt blended and the ground started to rise into the hills around Troy. “Don't you see it?”

“See what?” Tassiter lifted his own torch, squinting into the darkness.

It took a moment, but he did see something, a change in the lighting as it fell over the distant air. There was something there, catching the light. He lifted his torch higher, taking a few steps forward. It was made of wood and it was massive, only hidden by the shadows. As Tassiter moved closer and held his torch up, its curved sides became evident, leading up to a tall figure and long legs that rested on a wheeled base.

It was a horse.

“A statue?” Tassiter said, brow furrowing. “Vasquez, go investigate it.”

Vasquez made a sputtering noise but he didn't question Tassiter again, walking up the low slope to the rough ground and the statue towering over them. It loomed over the camp; why hadn’t they noticed the damn thing before?

Vasquez stopped in front of the horse and tapped against its side. It rang out, a solid, dull thud that travelled fast over the flat beach. A few of the soldiers looked up from their searches to watch, moving closer to the horse.

Tassiter kept his distance, watching warily. Vasquez walked all around it, investigating each of the legs and kicking at the wheeled stand. The horse statue jostled but didn't move, too solid to be pushed around.

Cupping his hand around his mouth, Vasquez shouted, “Looks like it's just a statue, King Tassiter!”

“Quiet!” Tassiter hissed, hurrying up the beach. Vasquez backed away, eyes wide. Tassiter smacked his shoulder and looked up at the horse. It was the same shade as the Greek ships, its great eyes staring into the distance. It wasn't realistic, all straight lines and boxy shapes, but it was well built, tied together with ropes and pegs that slotted into the wood. Whoever had made it, they knew their craft.

“What's it doing here?” Vasquez put a hand on its side, tapping it again, but there was no sign of traps or deception. It was simply a wooden horse.

“I know one person that uses the symbol of the horse,” Tassiter said, walking around the statue. “Fiona, Goddess of War. She has had much presence during this war, and there is no doubt that her hand has played a role. This statue looks like an offering.”

Vasquez walked around opposite Tassiter, exploring the other half of the horse. The Trojan soldiers were coming closer now, curious, fumbling over the sand to get a good view. Vasquez laughed and said, “Maybe they wanted to pray for safe travels before they ran out of here. Praying to the Goddess of War for mercy on the _seas_? A bad idea.”

“They prayed to her after we suffered such injustice in our temples,” Tassiter growled, reaching up to run a hand over the horse’s flank, his hand barely coming up to the top of its legs. “Where do they find the gall to pray to deities that do not favor them?”

“They're fools,” Vasquez said easily, stopping under the horse's head and looking up at it. “I bet we could use it ourselves.”

“What?” Tassiter said flatly, raising a brow.

Vasquez tilted his head, examining the horse, and said, “Yeah, yeah. I bet if we take this into the city we could use it to honor the Goddess of War ourselves. She's clearly on our side if the Greeks left, right? They gave up and built this in a last ditch attempt to get some good favor before they sailed away.”

“A new idol.” Tassiter looked up at the horse, too. The soldiers were gathering around him now, investigating the statue, and he didn't stop them. The statue _was_ impressive, built well in a short amount of time, so fast they hadn't even noticed it until this day. It loomed over them, empowered and ready to trample transgressors under its feet.

“It's on wheels,” Vasquez added. “They probably built it farther down and wanted to move it up here. Stupid for them but it'd make it easier to carry to the city.”

Tassiter frowned, lips twisting. “I'm not sure I want anything of Greek origin in our city. It might taint the people, give them ideas. Stop that!” He waved a hand at a man tapping the sides curiously, shooing him with a flick of his wrist. The soldier startled and took a few steps back, bowing respectfully.

“Wouldn't that be the ultimate insult?” Vasquez asked, grinning. “To take what they intended to be a gift to the gods and use it for ourselves? It would be a last mockery to the Greeks as they sail home with their tails between their legs.”

Tassiter's eyes narrowed, looking up at the horse. It would take incredible power to move it on the rocky soil, but it _did_ have wheels, and they had plenty of soldiers with them. It was an impressive statue, wood hide expertly lashed together, great carved wooden eyes staring down judgmentally at anyone who looked up at it. If anyone were to doubt the Goddess of War they would only need to look at this statue and know her power.

Troy could always use the favor of another goddess.

“Very well,” he said with a quiet sigh. “Soldiers!” He turned on his heel, glaring down at the cluster of people staring at the statue. Tassiter pointed to the horse, his fingers a commanding signal. “Grab this horse and bring it back to the city! It belongs to us a now, a spoil of war.”

The soldiers hesitated but listened, circling around the horse and pressing their hands to its side, pushing it up the beach. On the rocky, uneven soil it took great effort, the soldier's sandals sinking into the ground. Tassiter and Vasquez moved back to watch the horse rock with the weight of their pushes, wheels groaning at it was shoved off the sand and onto more stable ground.

“It's heavier than it looks!” someone complained. There were murmurs of agreement.

“I don't care! We're taking it to the city and dedicating it to the Goddess of War. Her presence was here for this battle and we will thank her properly for our victory.” Tassiter walked behind the group of soldiers, glancing back at the Greek camp one last time. There was still no sign of their return, only empty tents and scuff marks in the sand.

“Cowards,” Tassiter muttered. Slowly, they made progress back toward the road to Troy, the horse creaking with every movement.


	10. Chapter 10

Once they were on the road, carrying the horse was much faster. The wheels still groaned and the soldiers griped about the weight, but one look from Tassiter had them shutting up again. It was late when the gates of Troy opened up for them. The eyes of the guards at the gate went wide at the sight of the horse. 

“My good men!” Vasquez said, slinging his arms around one of the guard's necks, “We've brought a great prize from the Greeks to the city! They've fled like dogs and I think we should celebrate by getting drunk.”

“Son,” Tassiter warned, watching the gates behind them close.

“What?” Vasquez pointed vaguely at the sky. “The moon is still high and we should do something after our victory, right? It'll raise the morale of the people.”

Tassiter pursed his lips, hands clasped behind his back. He'd been getting numerous complaints about the war in recent months as the conflict dragged on seemingly without end. The news that they'd won would send a rolling celebration through the city like a fire licking over tree tops.

Frowning, he said, “Fine, but don't expect me to participate. And keep the noise down.”

“Yes! Thank you, sire!” He grabbed the guard again and shook him excitedly. “Tell everyone you can, wake people up if you have to– we've won the fucking war!”

Tassiter sneered and turned on his heel, glad to leave the ruckus to the youngsters.

The walk back to the palace was a long one but Tassiter nabbed one of the soldiers that had been pushing the horse, letting her walk ahead to shield him while he gazed at the streets. Already, lights were turning on in houses and people were poking their heads out as the soldiers and their families started spreading the news of their victory. The new Trojan horse was visible near the gates, pushed slowly toward the center of the city.

“Six years,” the guard said. She smiled at him over her shoulder. “It's been a long time, my king. Aren't you going to celebrate with everyone else?”

“I have work to do,” Tassiter said gruffly. “You can run down and have some wine as soon as I'm safely back in my throne room.”

“Yes, your majesty!”

Tassiter should have expected the noise to wake his other son. Vaughn was waiting in the entrance hall with Rhys, both watching him warily. “King Tassiter?” Vaughn said, inching forward cautiously. “How was your mission to the Greek camp?”

“Successful, if not fully by our own design.” He waved off the soldier and looked down his nose at Vaughn, lips tipping up in what could barely be called a smile. “The Greeks have abandoned their camp and their ships are gone. We've won this war.”

Vaughn's mouth dropped. Rhys went pale. Tassiter smirked, laughing quietly. “Yes, they were gone, save for a few collapsed tents and this . . . strange offering to a goddess. They left some sort of giant horse statue that we have now claimed as a spoil of war.” He jerked his head back toward the door. “Feel free to go down to the city and celebrate with everyone else.”

Vaughn swallowed a couple times, glancing at Rhys. Rhys’ brow furrowed as his paleness started to fade, some color flooding back into his cheeks. “Giant horse?” he said.

“It's an enormous thing, not something I would have chosen for us,” Tassiter said, waving a hand and turning to go to his throne room. “But we must have some kind of trophy and the horse  _ is _ rather impressive. I suggest you go down and see it, provided Rhys does not wander.” He left swiftly, not even looking back. 

“I can't believe they left," Vaughn said quietly. Something small and hopeful fluttered in his chest and he looked at Rhys. For a brief moment his mind flashed to the future, to what he could do to keep Rhys safe and with him and  _away_ from Vasquez, and the realization of what the victory meant hit him like an ocean wave. "Oh, Rhys," he said softly. 

“Vaughn,” Rhys said firmly, holding his hand up in a calming gesture. “It's  _ okay _ . They didn't leave.”

“How . . .” Vaughn cocked his head. “How do you know that?”

“Because I know exactly what that horse is.” Rhys glanced around, making sure no guards were within hearing range. The one who'd guided Tassiter had left, and no doubt all the others were slowly getting news of the celebration in the city. He beckoned Vaughn close with a hand and moved to one of the windows, leaning over the edge.

Once he saw it, tall against the low buildings of the city, the Trojan horse was obvious to Rhys, standing near the center of Troy. It was made of wood, as far as he could see, and tied together with rope. Rhys had listened to Jack talk about the idea so many times, it was easy to remember how he’d planned to build it. 

“That?” Rhys said, pointing at where the horse was. " _ That _ is Jack's handiwork, no doubt. I think I know exactly what the Greeks are up to.”

“You– you do?” Vaughn asked. He glanced down at the horse, lips twisted as he contemplated it. “But how . . .”

“Just trust me.” Rhys smiled and patted Vaughn's shoulder. “They didn't leave. And better yet, everyone's celebrating.” He looked down at the city again, at the lights springing up from celebratory fires around the streets. “If we go down there, we can definitely help the cause.”

Vaughn blinked slowly and stared down at the city beneath them.

 

* * *

Everyone in the streets was yelling and dancing, riding the high of their victory over the Greeks. Six long years of fighting had led to this, and in the end the Trojans had gotten to keep their prize from the Goddess of Love, and an idol to dedicate to another goddess in turn. Wine was being passed around liberally in amphoras and people were running through the streets, swinging each other in fast dances or leaning up against buildings to laugh and chant with one another. There was faint music coming from somewhere but it was difficult to hear over the din of voices.

Vaughn and Rhys made their way through carefully, smiling at anyone who engaged them but otherwise moving fast and ignoring offers of wine. Vaughn walked behind Rhys, hands tense, looking around quickly. “Are you sure about this?” he asked for the tenth time.

“Yes,” Rhys said, looking over his shoulder to nod at him. “I've heard Jack talk about that horse  _ quite _ a few times.”

“He had plans for a statue?” Vaughn walked faster, trying to keep up with Rhys' long legs.

Rhys waved his hand impatiently. “I'll tell you later. Right now I have to find Vasquez.” He glanced around, eyes darting over the multitudes of bodies crowding the Trojan streets, pressed up against buildings to kiss and grind against each other or spinning through any alley with enough room for a fast dance. 

Vasquez would be where the action was. Rhys turned down a street, towards the center plaza.

“Please don't tell me you're going to stab him,” Vaughn said, looking down at his waist where his own knife rested. Rhys hadn't been allowed weapons on Vasquez's order; that hadn't stopped Vaughn from slipping him a knife to keep under his pillow.

Rhys laughed, smiling. “As much as I want to, I think what I have in mind is going to be a lot more satisfying.” He turned down another street, the plaza of the city visible in the distance. Rhys hurried towards it; the Trojan horse towered over the buildings, its wooden head looming over the roofs.

The plaza was filled with people, a crowd ebbing and flowing around the horse statue. People were munching on fruits and bread, drinking wine by the stomach full without care about passing the amphoras around. They danced and crashed into each other repeatedly, their laughter echoing in a thick cloud of noise over their heads. Rhys scanned the crowd; Vasquez was at the center of it, talking loudly and waving his hands around as he spoke.

“Vaughn,” Rhys said, glancing at him. “How drunk does Vasquez get when he's celebrating?”

Vaughn blinked and paused, thinking. “You've seen him drunk a few times, but when he's at a party? It's usually hard to  _ stop _ him from drinking. One time after winning a battle with a local king we found him shouting obscenities from the palace roof with his robes hung on a nearby statue of the God of the Sun.”

Rhys grinned. “Perfect. Stay here.”

It wasn't hard to get hold of an amphora; dozens of people were carrying them and passing them around. Rhys managed to grab one that was about half full and he grunted at the weight of the wine sloshing around inside of it, gripping it awkwardly with his only hand. It took some effort but he managed to tuck it into the crook of his arm without spilling it and, with Vaughn's eyes on him, Rhys went straight up to Vasquez.

“Hey!” he said, forcing himself to smile. Vasquez stopped the story he was telling to a few men eagerly watching, turning to meet Rhys' eyes.

“Rhys,” he said, with an edge to his tone that spoke of both how drunk he was and how surprised he was to see Rhys willingly talking to him. He pushed away from his drunken admirers and stepped close to Rhys, watching Rhys' feet like he knew he would spring away. He would've been right on any other night.

“Did you have some wine?” Rhys asked, holding up the amphora and batting his eyelashes perhaps a  _ little _ obviously.

Vasquez didn't seem to mind, lips tipping up slowly as he took the jug from Rhys. “Never enough to go around,” he said, lifting it up to take a few swallows. “What are– what are you doing? Out of the palace?” The amphora swung dangerously when Vasquez put it down and Rhys quickly scooped it up again, saving it from the many wandering feet around the plaza.

“I came to celebrate with you, of course!” Rhys beamed at him, cheeks hurting from how fake the smile was. But Vasquez was already eyeing the amphora again and Rhys eagerly passed it over, letting him drink as much as he wanted. “I can't believe you actually defeated Jack.”

The praise made Vasquez glow from more than just the drunken flush to his cheeks. “We finally intimidated them into leaving, like they should have done  _ years _ ago.” Vasquez waved a hand to emphasize his words but the motion was a bit too chaotic to make sense. “Aren't you–” Vasquez stopped for another sip of wine and furrowed his brow. “Aren't you sad about it?”

“I am,” Rhys said, not betraying his smile. “But, Vasquez, I'm so impressed the Trojans managed to take that horse and make the Greeks leave. You have to tell me all about it! What was it like, coming to their camp and seeing them all gone?”

Vasquez blinked slowly and Rhys nudged the amphora he was still holding. Vasquez looked down at it like he was trying to puzzle out exactly what it was. He shrugged, taking another long sip. Rhys fluttered around him, keeping his interested expression as best he could. He'd seduced enough of Jack's enemies to know how to play this game.

It wasn't hard, since Vasquez was already drunk. Rhys simply encouraged him a bit more and didn't stop until Vasquez was swaying on his feet. 

Rhys finally took the amphora away when Vasquez’s eyes crossed and his hands fumbled to grab the bottle. Rhys ducked away and slipped out of sight. Vasquez was too drunk to notice or care that he'd left, and Rhys replaced the empty amphora with a fuller one, walking around the crowd to offer it up to anyone who asked.

Vaughn caught up to him, eyes darting back and forth. “What are you  _ doing _ ? Aren't you mad that this is even happening?”

“A little,” Rhys admitted, giving the jug to a woman making grabbing motions at him. He passed it off and looked over the crowd, at how much people swayed in their movements and their loud laughter carried across the plaza. Already there were people sitting on benches and leaning against walls, eyes slipping closed as fatigue took them. “That isn't what's important, though.”

Vaughn stood with him away from the main crowd, waiting and watching as the celebration dragged on. The moon was slowly setting in the sky, dragged across the stars by the goddess that watched over it. Rhys looked up at it a few times, thinking of the horse and Jack and the empty Greek camp. If they were going to do this, they only had one shot.

It took a long few hours of waiting and watching Vasquez make a fool of himself, but eventually people started to leave the celebration for home or curl up to sleep somewhere in the plaza. They waved goodbye or sleepily settled down, a scatter of bodies covering the smooth dirt roads. Rhys and Vaughn hung around the edge until everyone was either gone or sleeping. 

Rhys walked back to the Trojan horse, carefully stepping around the dozing people on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Vaughn hissed, casting worried glances at the sleeping Trojans. “Rhys, please tell me what's going on!”

“It'll be obvious in a second.” Rhys stopped in front of the horse and looked at Vaughn. “How often do guards do patrols?”

“Uh . . .” Vaughn closed his eyes, thinking. “Every few hours. I saw a few of them poke their heads into the plaza, I don't know, maybe an hour ago? They aren't scheduled to come back here for a while. Besides that, they're probably pretty relaxed after the news about winning the war.”

“Right.” Rhys turned back to the horse and pointed at his feet. “Can you boost me up?”

Vaughn blinked slowly. “Sure,” he said hesitantly. He bent down, cupping his hands. Rhys put his hand on the Trojan horse's side, placing one foot over Vaughn's hands and letting himself be carried up until he could reach the underbelly of the horse.

There was a switch there, something that wouldn't be noticed by anyone who didn't know about it. It was made of the same wood as the rest of the horse and too small to be obvious. Rhys pulled it and turned the knob until it clicked, grinning. It was just like the switches Jack used on the ships at home to lock storage rooms.

“Brace yourself,” Rhys said, and yanked hard, rocking dangerously on Vaughn's hand. Vaughn cursed and put his other hand on Rhys' calf as Rhys yanked again, pulling until the door finally fell open.

Vaughn lost his balance and they both fell, collapsing with sharp curses and yelps. Rhys scrambled to sit up, looking around. No one had noticed; everyone was still sleeping off their wine. He looked at the open hatch on the horse.

It took a long, painful moment for a pair of feet to appear, followed by a body that jumped down and crouched at the base of the horse. The figure quickly stepped off, brushing debris off their clothes.

Rhys' eyes went wide, breath catching in his throat. He pushed himself up, ignoring the ache in his back and the scrapes across his arm, staring at the man standing in front of him. The man he hadn't seen in six years.

“Jack,” he whispered.

Jack looked up and froze. Rhys had to suppress a nervous giggle, moving closer. His heart swelled with all the nights spent crying, all the hours watching the ocean for a sign of him, the days Rhys wasted alone in his room, thinking he might never see him again. “Jack,” he said. “Jack, you're here, I can't believe . . .” He stopped in front of him, hand held out but wary, almost as if he touched Jack the illusion would shatter like heated glass into a million, impossible shards.

He was older, obviously. There was more grey in his hair. His eye was covered in scar tissue and the iris was pale now, the eye damaged beyond repair. He had similar scars all over his face from the duel, and he looked thinner. But it was him. Undeniably, it was him.

“Jack,” he said again, his smile fading. Jack was frozen on the spot, eyes wide and lips parted, like a statue captured at the moment of death.

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Vaughn spat.

Jack jerked out of his trance, glancing at Vaughn. He looked at Rhys again, as if seeing him for the first time. He moved fast, arms out, and yanked Rhys into his embrace, tangling a hand in his hair and burying his nose in Rhys' neck, inhaling sharply. It was like a gale force wind, being wrapped up, and Rhys sunk into the familiar touch, heart thumping and hand shaking as it rose to tuck around Jack’s back, fingers tangling in his clothes. 

“Rhysie,” Jack breathed, and the sound of his voice was like a choir, the way it made Rhys' heart flutter against his chest. “Rhysie, gods be damned, I missed you so much.”

“Me too,” he said, voice cracking as he pressed his nose into Jack's cheek, kissing it hard.

Vaughn cleared his throat, yanking the two from their small moment. “Excuse me,” he said, “but should we really be hanging around like this?”

Jack blinked, coming into awareness for the first time. He put his hands over Rhys' shoulders and squeezed tight. “That's right. We have work to do.”

As if on cue another body jumped from the horse, and then another, and another, until there was a small band of people standing at the horse's base, all looking around to observe the city. 

“Nisha! Timothy!” Rhys jumped excitedly and he would have hugged them, had Jack not pinned him firmly to his side, his hand like a ship’s anchor around his waist. 

“Rhys!” they said, nearly in unison, and rushed to him, hugging him as best they could with Jack still holding him. Nisha patted his face with reverence, like she was checking that he was real. Timothy rubbed his hair affectionately and quickly moved away at Jack's stern look. 

Vaughn watched them crowd around Rhys, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. There were a few other people with them; a woman with fiery red hair, a dark man built like a wall, a slim figure wielding a sword, ready to strike down the first opponent that dared hit them. There were others but Vaughn couldn't spend his time mulling them over. “Rhys,” he pressed. “This is some kind of brilliance, but you have to  _ leave _ now. The guards will be here on patrol soon!”

Rhys nodded but Jack tightened his grip, pulling Rhys close. “Rhysie,” he said, his tone low and threatening. “I don't know if he  _ told _ you, but this prick is the one who took out my eye and gave me these scars.”

“Y-Yeah, I know.” Rhys broke from his grip and met Jack's eyes. “It's a long story and you might not believe me but there  _ is  _ an explanation. It wasn't Vaughn's fault.”

Jack stared for a long moment at Rhys' innocent expression, sighing. “Coming from you, Rhysie, I'd probably believe anything. But he's right, we have to get out of here soon.” Jack looked at Vaughn. “When do the guards come back?”

Vaughn glanced up at the sky, tracking the position of the moon, face scrunching as he tried to remember the guard rotation. “An hour or so, maybe.” The moon was creeping towards the horizon and soon the coming light of dawn would blow their cover.

“We better hurry.” Jack brought a hand to Rhys' face, stroking gently. “Rhys, where's the prick who kidnapped you? Vasquez?”

Rhys looked around but Vasquez had gone off somewhere outside the plaza after the height of the celebrations. “Probably passed out drunk in the streets,” he said, shaking his head. “I might have encouraged the Trojans to drink a little too much after I saw the horse.”

“‘Atta boy.” Jack grinned and grabbed Rhys' hand, squeezing it tight. “Don't worry, I'll find the bastard. In the meantime," he turned, "Nisha, Timothy.”

“Yes, sir,” they said, both standing at attention.

Jack waved his hand to the east and the west. “Each of you take some people and spread out around the city. We're taking as much as we can carry and getting the hell out of here.”

“No!” Vaughn held his hands up, imploring. Jack raised a brow and glared down at him like he could smite Vaughn himself if he stared hard enough. Vaughn swallowed around the lump in his throat and said, “You have to get out as soon as possible, there's no telling what the guards will do once they find you.” The thought of Rhys leaving pierced like a needle in his heart but he couldn't stop him, not now that Jack was here in the city.

“They'll die, probably,” Jack said, unconcerned. “Nisha told us where the tunnels are, we can escape if necessary. I'm not leaving without some recompense for all the years Rhys spent in this waste of a city.”

“Jack,” Rhys chided.

Nisha shifted, eyes darting around the buildings surrounding the plaza. “Should we stick with the plan, Jack? Vaughn makes a decent point.”

“I'm finding that _bastard_ Vasquez,” Jack snarled. “So you might as well wreak some havoc. They deserve it after what they did to Rhys and our armies.”

Rhys perked up and put a hand over Jack's cheek. “You didn't  _ really _ send your ships away?”

Jack snorted and shook his head, petting through Rhys' hair. “Now why in the world would I do that, Rhysie? No, they're hiding behind some cliffs. I'm glad the Trojans were stupid enough to take the horse tonight, the ships won't be able to stay in the water past tomorrow afternoon.”

“You're going to find Vasquez, then?” Timothy pressed, jerking his head toward the city around them. “I'd suggest you hurry.”

“Yeah, fine, worry wart.” Jack put a hand on the back of Rhys' head and drew him in, kissing him on the lips and forehead in quick succession. “Wait by the tunnels, sweetheart, we'll be there very soon. Just a little mayhem and then we can be on our way.”

“All right,” Rhys said, nodding, stepping away while Jack drew his sword, the metal shining in the moonlight. It was the same sword Jack had pointed at Vaughn's throat, his life only spared because Vaughn had protected Rhys as best he could.

Rhys turned to him suddenly, lips parted in shock. “Vaughn,” he said, his voice even quieter than his private whispers with Jack. “Don't you care that Jack wants to kill your brother?!”

Vaughn blinked, the fact settling into his mind like slow molasses dripping down the back of his neck. “Oh.” He looked between Rhys and Jack, who was directing his people to different parts of the city. “I . . . I don't think so.” Vaughn took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. His own fingers felt strange on his scalp. “Vasquez never lived with us growing up. He only came to the city for the occasional visit. He treated me like shit every time, and he's treated me like shit for the past six years of this damn war. Not to mention all the times he's attacked you.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue in disdain. “I think Vasquez had this coming when he decided to kidnap someone's wife and try to force them to love him.”

Rhys brought a hand to his shoulder, squeezing. Vaughn covered Rhys' hand with his own and they both turned to look at Jack.

He was staring openly, eyebrow quirked. “This guy,” he said to Rhys, “is really a friend of yours? Even though he cut my face open?”

“I'll explain it later,” Rhys promised. “And yes, he's my friend. The only one I've had while I've been stuck here.” He looked up at the moon, hissing quietly. “Jack, if you're going to kill Vasquez you'd better hurry. And avoid being seen by the guards!”

“No problem, kitten.” Jack swept in and kissed Rhys again, stepping away and bringing his sword up to his hip, ready to swing. “I'll be back soon. Go to the tunnels.”

Rhys nodded dutifully. “We will.”

Jack turned and ducked down an alleyway, sandals shuffling quietly over the dirt paths. Vaughn and Rhys watched him leave and looked at the drunken, sleeping bodies scattered around them. “Let's go,” Rhys said, sliding his hand down to Vaughn's wrist and urging them along.

There was no sign of alarm from the Trojans, but they could hear doors swinging open and the rush of footsteps as soon as Jack’s people descended on the citizens. The guards didn’t send an alert; everyone was drunk and it was easy to assume any further noise was from the remainders of the celebrations. The sun was rising higher every minute, though. Soon they’d be revealed. 

Vaughn cleared some of the vines from the tunnel entrance and led Rhys inside, grabbing the torch off the wall and a piece from the pile of flint stones underneath it. Lighting it only took a few tries and Vaughn held it up high, letting it be a beacon through the foliage.

It was light enough to see the streets of the city. The sky was pale blue with dawn, the sun emerging over the horizon as the gods pulled the moon down and let sunlight shine across their earth. There was no sign of Jack, and with every minute that passed Rhys pressed himself closer and closer to the tunnel wall, inching toward the entrance in some vague hope that he might feel their footsteps or see them running around the nearest corner. Vaughn pulled him back a couple of times but Rhys paid him no mind, eyes darting back and forth to watch.

The first rays of real sunlight had started to hit the rooftops when they heard the scream.

It was piercing, like a shard of glass straight to the eardrums. Rhys flinched and covered one ear, pushing the other against the tunnel wall. Vaughn nearly dropped the torch and resisted the urge to do the same as Rhys, instead moving closer to the entrance, waiting.

More shouts followed, the deep bellows of guards, and in the distance they could hear running. A few moments later a throng of bodies poured into the alcove; Nisha was at their lead, bashing the branches aside with her fist and dragging in a bag that looked suspiciously stuffed. Timothy was behind her with the other soldiers. At the very back was Jack, blood on his face that made his sharp grin even worse, the fresh kill written in the lines of his smile.

Rhys didn't hesitate to open his arm wide and pull Jack into another tight hug. Vaughn flinched back, lips twisting as he threatened to gag at the sight of Jack smearing his bloodstained face against Rhys' shoulder.

“Did you do it?” Rhys whispered.

“I  _ relished _ it,” Jack said, stepping back to look into Rhys' eyes. “Sweetheart, he'll never hurt you again.”

Rhys sagged with relief, a small noise escaping his throat. He put a hand over Jack's face to stroke his cheek.

Vaughn shifted nervously on his feet, skin itching with impatience. “Okay, okay, this is nice and all, but the guards are going to find us any minute! We have to go!” He waved his torch down the tunnel, casting erratic shadows that curved over the irregular stone like clawing fingers.

“Right.” Jack pecked Rhys on the cheek and moved to the front of the group. “What about you?” he asked, meeting Vaughn's eyes.

“Me?” Vaughn blinked, looking around. “What about me? I'm leading you out of the tunnel!”

“Isn't this a one way road?” Nisha said, hefting her bag of Trojan prizes. “We don't  _ need _ someone leading us out.”

“That's . . . true,” Vaughn said, deflating. “I supposed I should . . . get back to the city, after you guys leave.” His hand shifted on the torch, fingers playing over the roughly carved wood. He cast his eyes to the floor.

Rhys swallowed, clinging to Jack, looking between Vaughn and his friends. He'd reunited with them after six years. He would finally be on his way home. Vasquez was dead and he was leaving Troy; it was the perfect end to the world's worst nightmare.

“Vaughn,” he said softly. “Come with us." 

“Come . . . with you?!” Vaughn laughed hollowly and gestured helplessly at the tunnel's entrance. “I'm the crown prince of Troy, Rhys, I can't just  _ leave _ it.”

“But has it really done any good for you?” Rhys asked. “A city full of people who are willing to listen to Tassiter, and a father who does nothing but berate you?”

“I . . . I was supposed to take it back, stop Vasquez from being king and ruining everyone's lives.” Vaughn's voice was trembling, the fire on the torch shaking with his unsteady hands.

“Vasquez is dead,” Jack said flatly. “And I expect the people won't be happy with Tassiter for much longer after they find out that the war that was supposedly won just ended with his son dead and their precious deity's prize taken away.”

“They'll survive,” Rhys said. “People always do. But you don't owe anything to this place if you don't want to.”

“We could always use someone who knows about Troy's trading methods,” Timothy added, voice lilting upward with hope. “Jack has never been very good with that.”

Jack bit out a quick, “Hey!” and Vaughn turned away again, looking out of the tunnel, at the city he’d grown up with.

Rhys smiled at him when he turned back, worry etched into the edges of his eyes, hand tight on Jack's robes as he waited. Vaughn took a deep breath and returned the smile. “Let's go.”

Rhys beamed, bouncing on his heels. Vaughn held the torch up, starting to walk, but Jack stopped him. “I'm still pissed about my face,” he said, “but you've obviously helped Rhysie. Give me the torch, you can just walk for a while.”

Vaughn hesitated and passed the torch. Jack flashed a knowing grin. 

The light cast by the flame rose higher, firelight covering their small group. Jack’s muscles were tight and a grin split his face. “Homeward bound, friends, come on!” He started down the tunnel, walking fast. Rhys scurried after him, Vaughn, Nisha, Timothy, and their fellow Greek soldiers following close behind.

The tunnel was small and damp, and they were soon forced to walk in lines of two and three. Vaughn stayed behind Jack and Rhys, watching Rhys get close to Jack, never crowding him enough to be a bother but clearly not wanting to be separated. Vaughn could hardly blame them after being apart for six years. It must have felt surreal just to see one another, let alone be close and touch.

There was something odd that he noticed after a while. Jack squeezed Rhys' sides, his shoulders, even patted his ass playfully as they walked back down to the shores beyond the city. Rhys giggled or hummed into the touches and reached up to stroke Jack's hair when he could.

Every time Jack's hand got close to Rhys' shoulder, the one that was missing an arm, his touches slowed. His fingers curled gingerly over the edge and he touched it softly, like he was caressing Rhys' face instead of the remnants of a lost limb. It was too private, too intimate, and eventually Vaughn shifted his gaze away, a strange sense of invasion curling in his gut. 

The tunnel was long and narrow but they didn't hear any signs of the Trojans coming after them the whole way through. Vaughn glanced nervously over his shoulder, nothing but gaping emptiness and shadows following them. By the time they reached the other end, where the shoreline washed up inside the cave and the rocks turned broken and gritty beneath their feet, the sun had fully risen and early dawn had cast a mist over the sea.

“I can't believe it,” Vaughn said, marveling at the sight of the beach, the Greek ships lined up against the sand. “You  _ hid _ your ships.”

“The cliffs did most of the work for us.” Jack had moved around Rhys, bracing him through the knee-deep water until they made it to dry shore, shaking the salt water off their clothes. He overturned the torch and extinguished it in the sand, waving a hand to signal the ships. There weren't many people on the beach, just enough to hold the ships down and carry the last of their supplies from the broken camp back on board.

Nisha and Timothy didn't hesitate to go to the ships. The tall, dark man and the red haired woman both stopped by Rhys, murmuring words to him and ruffling his hair. Neither of them looked at Vaughn.

They could see Troy in the distance with its gleaming doors and walls that had shut the Greeks out for six years. Vaughn scowled at them and followed Rhys and Jack, ignoring the sharp pang of longing in his chest. He looked at Rhys again to remind himself of why he'd come, why he'd been fighting against his father in the first place. 

There was a walkway leaning on the side of one ship. Jack guided them up it, onto the deck. There was a crew running around, managing the sails and pulling ropes, and on the side of the ship Vaughn could see oars turning, getting ready to push them off and out. There were at least fifty of them, if not more. “Do you use slaves for the ships?” he asked, glancing at Jack.

“Free men,” Jack said, eyes narrowed. “I wouldn't power my army on slave labor.”

Vaughn's lips pursed, looking over the edge at the oars again, thinking of the people sitting below deck to control them. “Tassiter would use slaves,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

“Jack!” Timothy ran up, breathing hard. “There's a storm farther out on the sea! We'll need to sail around it.”

Jack looked out over the ocean, eyes falling on the area near the horizon where dark clouds were gathering. “Get us as close to it as possible,” he said. “We need to get out of here quickly, I want to sail into the waters away from Troy before we get back to following the shoreline.”

Timothy made a noise in the back of his throat, swallowing uncomfortably, but nodded and turned on his heels to talk to the navigator.

Vaughn looked at the clouds, too, his stomach twisting. “The gods won't be pleased about this.”

Rhys started to say something but Jack whirled around to look at Vaughn. “Why do you think that?” he said, frowning.

Vaughn froze. “Uh . . .”

“It's a long story,” Rhys said, putting his hand over Jack's shoulder. “It's why I'm not mad at Vaughn about hurting you, but you might not believe it when you hear it.” He looked between Jack and Vaughn, hopeful.

Jack paused for a long moment, chewing his lip as he debated. The ship jolted as it pushed away from the shore, knocking him out of it. He glared at where Timothy, who was conferring with crew members, holding a map. “We'll talk later,” he said, pulling Rhys in to kiss his forehead and stalking over to Timothy.

Rhys moved to Vaughn immediately, staying close. Vaughn let him; Rhys' clinginess had become normal over the years and he didn't mind it, knowing Rhys had been coping with Vasquez's roughness and not being able to see his husband. Now, Rhys watched Jack like a hawk even as his hand found Vaughn's and squeezed.

The ship rocked again, sending Vaughn and Rhys pitching as it finally broke from the shore and moved back to the deeper water. The other ships were doing the same, breaking from the sand in a line and moving out toward the open waters. The crew moved above between the deck and the floors below, helping to guide the rowers and ensure their supplies were properly locked down. Rhys and Vaughn stayed with each other, watching Jack as he stalked around the ship and gave instructions.

“It's going to be a long journey home,” Vaughn said, looking to the shore where Troy still stood, stoic and unchanging as dawn's light hit its walls.

“But we  _ are _ going home,” Rhys said, smiling at him, like the world could end right then and there and Rhys was just happy to finally be with the people that mattered to him. Vaughn kept hold of his hand and they watched the lines of Troy's land fade over the horizon, soon to be nothing worse than a memory.


	11. Chapter 11

Yvette stared at the humans escaping on their ships, venturing to the open waters and turning back towards the shore when they neared her storms, curving around it with the skill of a cat dodging a hunter's knife. They were well and far away from rocky waters when they started following the land again, and at sunset they settled on the nearest beach to let their boats dry and give themselves a restful night of sleep.

They'd _left_ , gone, escaped from Troy without so much as a breath of a war's cry. The Trojan soldiers hadn't noticed their invasion until the Greeks were on their way out. They’d taken the two princes away with them, in death and in betrayal.

“This isn't fair,” she said, fists clenched at her side. “This isn't _fair_. They cheated!” Her lips lifted in a snarl and she screamed, loud enough for it to ring across Olympus. “They _cheated_!”

“No more than you did.” Beside her, Sasha materialized with a crack of thunder that rolled over the mountain and vibrated down across earth. She was smirking, the evil witch. Yvette glared with the fury of the sun. “Don't you dare,” she hissed. “This was your fault! You interfered with the Trojan victory!”

Sasha rolled her eyes and looked down at earth. The Greek mortals were on the ocean again, their days passing in mere blinks as the gods watched over them. “I did nothing of the sort,” she said happily. “A word here or there, that does nothing but make them consider their own actions. If they planned their escape smartly, that's their own doing. You, however.” Sasha straightened, leveling Yvette with a glare. “You took direct control of a mortal in order to gain the advantage and throw the fight back in your favor. If anyone cheated, it was you, imposing your will on them without their consent.”

Yvette reeled back like she'd been struck. “I did nothing of the sort!”

“And now you lie yet again?” Sasha asked, holding both hands out, confused. “You won the apple, what else did you need? You were involved in petty mortal trials for, what? Spite? Dignity? You could have kept your apple and been done with it, regardless of what the mortals did with Rhys. But now . . .” She lifted a hand, snapping her fingers.

There was another crack of thunder and a sound like metal clashing with metal; two more figures appeared beside Sasha. August stared Yvette down, hands crossed over his chest, and Fiona stood tall with her helmet over her face, the pale ivory shining radiant.

“Yvette,” August said, firm. “You took the will and consent of a human when it did not belong to you in order to throw an argument back in your own favor. There are many things humans do to deserve our ire, but taking their own willpower away?” He shook his head and sighed, worn out by too many centuries of strife. “That is a crime I cannot forgive.”

“Not to mention interfering with a war,” Fiona added, hand settled meaningfully on the sword at her hip. “Those are _my_ territory, Yvette. You have sway over emotions and the sea that both ache and churn with new tides, but war is not your jurisdiction. If you had wanted to turn the course you should have consulted with me.”

“You would have refused,” Yvette spat.

“Yes,” Fiona said without hesitation. “All the more reason for you to not have any sway in how the Trojan War resulted. You're lucky the Greeks managed to escape; if your meddling had resulted in a false victory for Troy you would be in even greater trouble.”

Yvette scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “You don't know who would have won.”

“Not after your shenanigans,” August said, his voice low, growling. “But the mortals had nearly settled the matter with a duel. Greece was in the victor's chair until you took the mind of Vaughn and forced him to continue fighting.”

"I didn't!" Yvette snarled. "Do I not even get a fair trial?"

"You lied and cheated your way to victory too many times," Sasha said with steel her voice.

August's eyes were lit like his lightning, fiery and sparking with barely contained anger. “Troy has lost their faith in you and the Greeks know Vasquez was using you to support his treacherous misdeeds. You will be lucky to find a follower among any of them, and I do not doubt your powers will suffer for it.”

“Fine, then,” Yvette spat. “Keep the people of Troy and King Jack's followers. There are plenty of other people for me to inspire.” She stood tall, the edges of her form flickering as she made herself taller than August just for the satisfaction of looking down at him. “This isn't any kind of _victory_ , August. Those humans will be dead before any of us notice.”

“Maybe,” August admitted, “but if you think I'll let you keep that apple, you've got another thing coming.”

Yvette's form dropped its illusion and she nearly stumbled back, mouth agape. “But that's– you can't _do_ that!”

“I can,” August said, and lifted his hand, palm open, “and I will.”

Yvette screamed but the apple was already a burning flame in August's palm, the gold crackling and shimmering as it crumbled into ash.

 

* * *

 

Sharp slaps of flat sandals echoed through Jack's throne hall, bouncing off the pillars and across the ceiling. “You paid everyone else,” Athena said, glaring at Jack as she paced, bringing her hand up to start listing off names. “Roland, Lilith, the soldiers–”

“They all stayed for the remainder of the cause,” Jack said, resting his chin on his palm, elbow digging hard into the marble edge of his throne. His one functional eye stared blankly at Athena, impatient and bored, fingers tapping idly on his thigh. “You abandoned us.”

“To save my lover!” Athena said, stopping hard and turning sharp on her heel. She gestured wildly to Janey, who leaned against one of the columns on the wall. “She was going to die if we kept fighting, we both might have! And you weren't paying us for the time we _gave_ you!”

Jack raised a brow, unamused. “No one forced you to leave before you saw the war through.”

“This is utterly ridiculous,” Athena growled, pacing again. “I give you my strength, which was one of the only reasons you survived as long as you did, and I demand rightful payment which you couldn't give me, and then I leave when my partner is severely injured, and now you say I don't deserve any kind of reward?”

“She's right,” Janey added from her perch. “You owe us, Jack.”

Jack groaned, leaning back in his chair. He'd already paid the soldiers that had fought for him, including the people who had sworn loyalty to his marriage even though, by their own oath, he didn't technically owe them anything. His treasury had taken a serious hit and Vaughn had advised him not to give out more if he could help it. As annoying as Vaughn was, clinging to Rhys constantly, he was good with numbers. It'd been a joy to fire his old treasurer, kick him out the door, and have Vaughn take the position instead.

And he  _had_ paid Athena and Janey, but now they demanded more, after seeing their ships crash with victory onto the shores. Jack ran a hand down his face, fingers dipping into the rough scars that had finally managed to heal. They were a craggy valley carved into his face, forever a reminder of the betrayal of the gods that had extended the Trojan War.

“Listen,” he said, sitting up and looking Athena in the eyes. “I'm a king and I'm setting an example here. I can't pay you anything more than I gave.”

“We're the _reason_ you were even able to fight as long as you did!” Athena said, bristling, hands clenched at her side and teeth grit, like a feral cat. Jack almost felt sorry for her. It would have been easier to show sympathy if Janey were still suffering from her wounds, but she'd healed long before Jack, knife marks littering her face and side where the Trojans had assaulted her.

Jack opened his mouth to say more but the door opened wide and Rhys walked in. Jack could hear his muttered thanks to the doormen and stood up to welcome Rhys with open arms. Even now, months after finding him, it was almost too good to believe that Rhys was here with him and not just a concept trapped behind city walls. “Hi,” he said into Rhys' hair, kissing him fervently.

“Hey, Jack.” Rhys kissed his cheek and pulled back, glancing at Athena and Janey. “You two were in the war?” he asked, and when no one replied he said, “I could hear the fighting from the hallway.”

“Yes, we were.” Janey finally moved from the column, bumping off with her hips and standing next to Athena, wrapping an arm around her to rub her shoulder. “And Jack doesn't want to pay us proper wages.”

“You didn't stay for the entire war!” Jack growled, slumping back into his throne and rubbing his hand over his face. “Even if I _did_ pay you more, I can't give what you're asking. It's more than most of the soldiers got for being there the entire time.”

“We were there for five years and we _carried_ that army!” Athena said, jabbing her finger accusingly at Jack. “We deserve way more than anyone else was paid!”

“More than my advisor and my brother who provided half the armed forces?” Jack asked, raising a brow.

Athena flinched. Janey quickly rubbed her shoulder again and said, “I'm sure they were paid a fair amount, and we won't ask for more than that, but Athena's right, we helped you and your army survive when it might not have otherwise.”

“I told you–”

“Jack,” Rhys interrupted. He looked between Jack and the two women, brow furrowed. “Is this true? Why aren't you paying them what they're asking?”

“It's not that simple, Rhysie.” Jack sat up and caught Rhys' hand in his own. “We have our own finances to manage and if every soldier thinks they can get more by being demanding–”

“So you won't give them what they ask? When they helped the army fight Troy? Didn't you do all of this for me?” Rhys took his hand back to wave it toward Athena and Janey. “If they fought in the war and helped the army, they helped save _me_. I know who Athena is, Jack, I've met her before. If she says she and Janey carried the army, I believe her.” He straightened, puffing his chest out and trying to look tough. In his silk robes with shining jewelry from his neck he was a bit too precious, but the look in his eyes was hard enough to make Jack lean back in his throne. “Pay them what they deserve, Jack.”

Jack's lips twisted and he ducked his head, clucking his tongue. Slowly, he looked up, meeting Janey and Athena's gazes. With a long, slow sigh, he said, “You'll get two thirds of what my advisor was paid, all right? It's more than what any of the soldiers got, I promise you. Talk to the treasurer to work out the details.”

The women both beamed and Janey raised her fist victoriously, squeezing her arm even tighter around Janey. Jack rolled his eyes and turned away, rubbing the bridge of his nose as they strolled from the room. 

Rhys hummed and leaned down, kissing the top of Jack's head. “I knew you had it in you.”

“The other soldiers aren't going to be happy,” Jack muttered, lifting his head and smiling faintly despite himself. “I _did_ pay them, just not that much. I can't give up so easy to every demand, now can I? I'll look like a pushover.”

“You _are_ a pushover,” Rhys said, sliding into Jack's lap and throwing his legs over the arm of the throne, his arm hooked behind Jack's neck. He nuzzled against his cheek and placed a soft kiss there. “Like this, I could make you do anything I wanted.”

Jack laughed and drew Rhys in for a proper kiss, lingering over his soft, velvety lips. It was like heaven, just being able to kiss him again. The first night home, after resting from the long voyage, they'd spent hours just kissing and holding one another, not even able to have sex for simply marveling that they were back in each other's arms.

They'd had sex eventually, but it was the most foreplay they'd done in a long while.

“Rhysie,” he said, curling his arms under him, lifting Rhys up to hold closer to his chest, “you made me launch a thousand ships across the ocean and spend six years waging war against a thick headed tyrant who couldn't see past his own ass. You don't even have to _be_ here to make me do anything for you.”

Rhys snickered, pressing his nose into Jack's neck. Jack could feel the blush burning in his skin. “It wasn't a thousand,” he muttered, pressing soft kisses on Jack's jugular. “It was only about twenty, maybe thirty. I didn't count.”

“Oh, it was definitely a thousand,” Jack assured, tilting his head back so Rhys could start laving his tongue across the soft skin, the warmth making his cock stir easily. “A thousand ships for the most beautiful wife in the world, so pretty even a goddess couldn't resist offering you as a prize.”

Rhys snorted and lifted his head, lips pursed as he held back a laugh. “You'd better not start any rumors about me.”

“Rumors? It was all true! You saw a deity, too, you little jackass!” Jack tightened his grip, pulling Rhys closer so he could nuzzle against his chest and bite at his collar. “I only tell the most honest truths about my gorgeous wife, don't I, Rhysie?”

“Jack,” Rhys whined, laughing halfway through the name as Jack's brushes across his chest made him squirm. “Don't you have better things to do than tease me?”

“Never,” Jack said immediately, bringing his head up and cupping the back of Rhys' neck, kissing him deep. It was almost like honey, how sweet Rhys was, addictive in the best way that made Jack want to tuck Rhys into his side and never lose sight of him again. “You're always the most important thing to me,” he said, voice softer than he would make it for anyone else in this world, a private whisper only for Rhys. “And I'm never letting some petty goddess take you away from me again, even if I have to start another war.” He punctuated his last words with another kiss, fingers tangling in Rhys' hair. Rhys melted into it easily, moaning low and opening his mouth to let Jack's tongue slide in.

There were other matters to attend to. Fixing the ships that had been damaged from the long voyage, writing to the families of the soldiers that hadn't come home, talking to Vaughn about their resources and how they would continue as a city-state now that Jack had returned. But it could all wait. He needed a few minutes with Rhys, having his lanky body in his lap and his warm lips under his tongue.

He _wanted_ all the time the world could give him, but unlike the deities, Jack actually had responsibilities to attend to.

Eventually.  

 

* * *

  

Vaughn gave Athena and Janey what they told him Jack offered– it took about a week before Vaughn realized that no one ever lied about what Jack had told them– and sent an escort to guide them out of the palace. He wrote down the change of coin and rolled up the last few pieces of parchment he'd had out on his table. The sun was nearing the horizon and soon dinner would be ready. Jack kept a small court but meals were always lively, especially when Jack inevitably stole Rhys from his chair and plonked him onto his lap, making poor Rhys squeal indignantly. 

Sparta wasn't where Vaughn had expected to end up. Vasquez had technically held the position of first prince, but Vaughn had assumed he would take some sort of position once King Tassiter stepped down. Advisor, probably, or someone who trained soldiers. Vasquez would have gloried in being rightful king even though Tassiter let him live on a farm and never trained him in politics, all because of some prophecy. 

Vaughn collected his papers and left his study, walking down the massive halls of the Spartan palace. Perhaps the prophecy had been right. It  _had_ been Vasquez's fault that the Greeks invaded in the first place. And now they were prospering off the alliances they'd made during the war and the people who'd come to trade with them after hearing of the results of the voyage. No one wanted to deal with a city whose goddess had abandoned them and killed their reigning prince. 

That was the luckiest break of all. Vaughn put a hand over his papers, breathing heavily. He'd wanted Rhys to go home, he truly had. But in his years at the palace, he'd been Vaughn's only friend. The only person who didn't cower in fear of Vaughn's father or belittle his work. He's started out protecting Rhys, but it had grown to something much more. 

He'd figured lying would bite him in the ass, that Rhys wouldn't believe him about a deity ruining the duel. Vaughn wondered if anyone else in the world was so lucky, to have a goddess meet them face to face and confirm their lies. Whatever reason Sasha had for blaming Yvette, Vaughn wasn't going to question what had only helped him out. 

Vaughn arrived at his room and set his papers on his desk, changing his robes to something looser and leaving quickly, down the halls to the dining room. He chewed his thoughts over as he walked, nodding to the servants who passed him as they bustled around the palace. Jack had a lot fewer than Tassiter, all trained in specialized jobs instead of general work, and they were well paid. Everyone Vaughn met seemed content, bored at worst, instead of the fearful cowering slaves Tassiter had used. 

The dining room was already busy when he entered and the table was filled with delicious food. Vaughn's stomach growled and he sat down at his designated spot, right next to Rhys' chair. Rhys had insisted on keeping him close even if Jack had frowned at the suggestion. Vaughn wasn't thrilled, either. Looking at Jack's scar, knowing how jealous he'd been, the moment he'd lost control in his fear of saying goodbye to Rhys . . .

He shook his head as he sat down. He didn't have to think about it now. The deities had taken care of any doubt in Rhys, and Jack believed Rhys. He was bitter about the scar but he wouldn't kill Vaughn, which was more than most people would get for that kind of crime. Jack was kinder than Tassiter but he wasn't  _that_ kind. 

The dining hall doors opened, stone and marble creaking and warm air rushing inside in a burst. Vaughn looked up to see Jack and Rhys walking in, Jack's hand wrapped around Rhys' waist. Vaughn perked up and waved, his heart fluttering at the bright smile Rhys gave back. His cheeks were flushed bright red. Vaughn could guess what he and Jack had been doing before they'd been called to the meal.  

They would eat dinner. If Jack didn't drag Rhys back to their room, Vaughn could talk to him and they could go over the treasury papers, which Jack had never been able to teach Rhys much about. It would be a calm evening, and Vaughn wouldn't have to worry about anger and scars and wars anymore. 


End file.
